We all like a good moan about congestion, shortage of parking, expense of parking, waits at RDC’s etc. Now the UK lads/lasses who do the continent report how its alot better, generally, over there. What do the foreign drivers make of coming over here to deliver ? Nightmare, like it, don’t like it? Some of you guys must know some of them?
I know a couple of Danish lads that come over here. It appears its harder to drive a left ■■■■■■ here than a right ■■■■■■ over the water, the UK has funny junctions. They feel the UK is very crowded, dirty and the food is bad, although both when pressed admit Fish and Chips are good. They hate the lack of proper parking and basics.
They think truck drivers here are good, but they believe the car drivers are the worst they have seen. They find people friendly on the whole and think the Brititsh a fine bunch, but think Britian is a backward country, everything is old and falling apart.
Andy
I know a few German and a couple of Dutch drivers and what they say about coming over here pretty much mirrors Drew’s comments above.
I think most drivers who venture beyond their own country just like going somewhere different, doesn’t matter how much of a craphole it is, you just make the best of it.
When I used to come to the UK for my French boss I found myself getting special treatment at some of the RDCs 
The longest I had to wait was at Sainsbury’s at Haydock (but still ‘done’ before others in the queue) where I ran out of time and had to park for the night at a service station not far away. Not sure I would have got away with that either if I hadn’t been ‘foreign’. 
At Sainsbury’s in (can’t remember, north of London, Waltham?) I arrived in the afternoon when receiving was restricted to mornings. ‘No problem’, the bloke said, ‘the rule doesn’t apply to foreigners’ 
It was this place that always allocated me a bay that was easier with a left ■■■■■■.
The worst experience I had was parking up for the night in a bus layby in a little village in Essex. A regular spot because there was a pub opposite which did proper hot dinners in the evening. As usual I pulled forward with one front wheel on the pavement to allow room at the back for the bus (probably not running at that time of night). The spot was on the edge of the village and although the pavement continued a little way, there was nothing beyond me 'till the next village. Settled down with the curtains drawn and a good book, there was an enormous ‘bang’ on the cab outside. Frightened the life out of me, I thought I had been run into, but on opening the curtains and poking my head out saw a little old couple in high dudgeon beating hell out of the paintwork with their walking sticks. 
I apologised profusely and hastily reversed a couple of feet to clear the path. 
As far as my mates were concerned. They quite liked it in England, especially the ‘full English’ breakfasts. The only meal they ate outside of the cab. They couldn’t believe me when I told them it was my café/croissants or madelaines that I most missed when away from France.
They also thought that the standard of car drivers was higher in England, and made special mention of their better behaviour on roundabouts, signalling generally, and more consideration for, and understanding of, the problems peculiar to truck drivers.
All in all, I liked coming to Blighty, but only as a foreigner