Dense fog, dense people
Grandad September 18th, 2008
The journey to France was quite uneventful.
I had a skinfull of pints which is only right and proper because I was on my holidays, and I wasn’t driving. If the captain wanted my assistance with anything, he was out of luck that night.
There is one aspect of drinking on board a ship that I like.
Normally, when one has indulged in a multitude of pints, there is a difficulty in the Gents, as the alcohol causes one to sway and to miss the urinal. However, on board a ship. the whole place is swaying anyway so one sway counteracts the other, and I found myself enjoying unerring accuracy even after the tenth pint. The same effect is noticeable when walking, so those of us who had indulged were the only ones walking a straight line. The rest were staggering around like drunken idiots.
Around six in the morning, I awoke and felt the need for a pee and a puff on the pipe.
I headed up on deck to find it was still dark. There was a faint glow in the east and it was very pleasant if a bit chilly.
After a while I realised I wasn’t alone.
There was a little fella there who wandered up to me.
“Good morning,” he said.
The sun was almost beginning to show, so I decided not to be pedantic.
“Good morning,” I replied.
There was no mistaking his accent. He was as English as they come. This surprised me as why would an Englishman be taking a ferry from Ireland to France, completely bypassing his own country?
He chatted amiably about the fine morning and the calm seas and then asked me where I was going.
I replied that I was heading down to the Dordogne.
He looked a bit puzzled and then looked smug. “Ah! Landbridge?” he said. “Are you driving down to Portsmouth tonight?”
I know some people take the ferry to the UK, drive south and then take a ferry across the English Channel, but that isn’t for me. I told him so.
He looked extremely smug.
“You do realise you are on the wrong ferry?” he said. “We’re heading for Fishguard. You Irish will be the death of me,” he laughed.
I asked him why, if we were on the Fishguard ferry, we had been at sea for over twelve hours and still hadn’t arrived.
He snorted and said that the fog had slowed us last night. There had been thick fog, all right but it hadn’t slowed us in the slightest.
He wandered off, chuckling something about the daft Irish.
I hope enjoyed his visit to Brittany.
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