Monday morning, and old Harry is off to ply his miserable trade around the roads of Europe.
It’s an early start for me, 0615 but to make matters worse, the clocks went forward at the weekend so in my bonce it is 0515… 45 minutes after leaving Bapchild International Freight Terminal I arrive at one of my regular haunts, Dover Eastern Dock.
These are the documents you receive when you ship- a weighbridge ticket, a windscreen ticket and two small tickets, one for boarding, and one for the restaurant
On we go…
Norfolk Line is the best short sea shipper in my opinion. Here we have the restaurant, where they make it clear that the riff-raff should stay out. Or maybe in.
Road King, that’s me.
I’m not a big one for breakfast- half a dozen ■■■■ and a bottle of Gaviscon does it for me but today, as I’ve got a pleasant view I decide to partake. If I was an eastern European, you would not be able to see this tray under all the food.
And so we leave the UK behind, arriving at Dunkerque 100 minutes later.
There are two things that are compulsary when you go to Belgium. One is the Vignette, or road tax which looks like this.
Secondly, you have to stop at this shop. It says so on the sign.
So with the cab full of Superkings and Special Brew and sticking two fingers up to Alistair Darling, it’s time to crack on.
This is Flanders, where WW1 was fought. I find this a very haunting place. God, how awful it must have been.
Now for a couple of Belgian road phenomena. Firstly the amazing robotic road worker. He stands there day and night doing this. Often they are decorated with Scouse-type wigs and moustaches.
Along the roadside, there are a series of hoardings used by the government to promote road safety in a sanctimonious, holier-than-thou Dutch Uncle kind of way. The campaign changes every month or so.
This one reads “Me, give way? I have the biggest car”.
Which, as the owner of a Rover 825 Sterling I think is a wonderful philosophy.
Holland now, and I’m always amazed by the lack of headroom on the motorway bridges. In 1998, an 18-year-old Army cadet was decapitated when he put his head out of the skylight of a coach as he travelled through Holland.
Now I’ve arrived at Schipol and within an hour I’ve collected my load. I’m afraid I can’t tell you what it is.
I can however tell you that they won’t be best pleased if I roll the truck over, something I have been known to do before.
Just like Jeremy Beadle, I have a very little hand.
And now I’m chasing the boat. I arrive at Hook of Holland at 1959- the cut off time is 2000. Here’s my boat, which will be taking me to Hull.
There’s a band playing in the bar- “Mama, at Waterloo, Napoleon did surrender”, that sort of thing. They are all good musicians though and I imagine they probably had another, better, band going on shore. I liked the singer, and I imagine she likes Harry Monk.
Here’s my cabin look- I’ve got a good night’s sleep, we won’t disembark until 0900.
In the morning it’s a pretty if rainy drive up into Scotland…
“Then, you have reached your destination”
A point of trivia for the Wine and Wisdom evening- Prestwick Airport is the only place in the UK where Elvis Presley ever set foot. Thankyewverymuch.
And so to bed- you’ll rarely find me in a truckstop or MSA, this is the night out that floats my boat. Doesn’t smell of wee-wee. Well, not when I arrive, anyway.
And so that’s another one over, I’ve got little Harry with me next week so I’ll try to take some photos of our trip.
