Monday 14th August 2007.
I’ve just had a week’s holiday- took the kids to Great Yarmouth and Pleasurewood Hills, did some work at home, and just chilled out a bit. I haven’t been to work for nine days now and I’m starting to get a bit restless. So I’m not sorry to be back.
This week I have to do a movement from Aberdeen, Scotland to Gdansk, Poland. This would be fairly straightforward, except that I’m currently in Sittingbourne, in Kent. No-one will pay me to cart fresh air around, so I have found a load on the spot market, taking agricultural supplies from Guildford to Banff.
Half an hour into my journey, and it all comes grinding to a halt. Yet again, a minor accident on the M25 has gridlocked every surrounding road, including the M26 here.
Every time I venture onto the M25, I am seized with an almost irresistable urge to track down the engineer who designed it and work the fellow over with a studded baseball bat.
A few hours later and I’m loaded and on my way. This section of the M25 between the M4 and Maple Cross is universally known as “The Arches”
If you look carefully, you can see that some miserable specimen has climbed onto the parapet, presumably in the dead of night, and painted “PEAS” onto the bridge in four-foot tall letters. What on earth is it all about?
I head on up the A1. I like the A1- Kate’s Cabin, The Fox, the Ram Jam- it has a touch of romance to it. Here, I have come off of the new motorway and am on the “old” A1, just for jolly.
The following morning I arrive at the Scottish border. Going into Scotland there are three new flagpoles and a large blue sign. Heading the other way, the border to England is marked with a butty van flying a couple of tatty Union Jacks.
As I cross the Forth Road Bridge I glance down to the left. I can see the sister ship to the one I will be on tomorrow night.
On and on I go, and eventually I leave urban Scotland behind as I head through Aberdeenshire.
And then into the wilds of Banffshire, or “Moray” as I believe it is called nowadays.
Just outside Banff are four farm workers cottages. My best buddy lives in one of these, so I park overnight right outside and spend a pleasant evening chewing the fat about old times.
He used to drive a truck, but then he wised up!
In the morning, I stop for some fuel, and am struck by an incongruity.
It seems to me that this bloke hasn’t quite got the hang of his job yet!
I tip at Banff, and head off back towards Aberdeen. Here I am, waiting to get loaded by the large blue crane beside me.
And here’s my load- a ship’s tow cable. This weighs around 25 tonnes and it’s all I’m taking. I chain it down and then I’m off.
My ship is going from Rosyth to Zeebrugge. I haven’t been via this route before but the boat is operated by Superfast Ferries, and I have been on their Ancona-Patras crossing. They are lovely boats.
At 5p.m. we set sail and immediately pass under the Forth Rail Bridge.
At mid-day the next day I arrive in Belgium. I set off on the E40 and almost immediately hit a long queue. When I arrive at the front, the fire brigade are just finishing cutting off the roof of a Mondeo estate which has been involved in an accident.
Being stationary, I get the chance to take a picture out of the side window.
Along the road network in Belgium, there is a series of poster sites used exclusively by the Belgian department of transport. The campaigns generally run for about a month, and address the motorist with Dutch-uncle earnestness about some aspect or other of road safety.
They are often in appallingly bad taste, and this one, translated literally, states “Too fast driving, stays in the memory”
And so on into Germany. This is a typical German breakfast, and if it looks like a raw hamburger spread on a bit of bread, that’s because that’s exactly what it is.
In less time than it takes to relate, I am at the Polish border at Kolbaskowo.
I buy my road tax, or “Vinety”. This has recently changed. You now have to stick one of these to your windscreen, and put your registration number on the other, and retain it to be checked, if necessary, by the authorities.
And now for the long trek north-eastwards.
I love Poland. Roads aren’t too clever but the people are friendly and the food is good, if a little fatty, and very cheap.
Apart from “Gdansk”, I wouldn’t have a clue how to pronounce any of this…
Eight days and 3100km after leaving Sittingbourne, I arrive at Gdansk shipyard.
It would be an over simplification to say that Communism died at Gdansk but the Solidarinosc strikers certainly played their part. This is history seen through a windscreen.
After leaving Gdansk, I head back empty to Germany. Backloads are in short supply in Poland. I load at Bamberg, near Bayreuth.
On Friday 24th August I arrive back in Dover, having covered 5100km since I set out. This trip, I bought 2300 litres of diesel (although I started off empty and finished brim-full of Belgian DERV). I have been away for 12 days.
Next week, back on UK work although we have another 50 movements to Gdansk in the pipeline.
(Edit, to fix typos and add a photo.)
Excellent job Harry. I see the Poles have certainly improved the roads with all that EU money 
