3.30am. Despite being knackered, and really only wanting to lie down, anywhere (the chairs are all designed to prevent sleeping although some of the vast tribe of Chinese have figured out a way) it's so nice not being drunk or hungover, or desperate for a drink (nothing is open until 4am). It's a ten hour layover, and it really hasn't been a pain apart from the agonising cramps.
I found a Selecta vending machine next to the toilettes (shut for redecorating, I suppose it makes sense at 2 in the morning, when else would you redecorate a loo in an airport) and it took contactless cards so I tried out my Triodos card and got a bag of crisps. The bottle of Orangina jammed on its way down and got its neck stuck in another rack, of Cokes. I kicked and thumped the machine to no avail and went off for a pee. When I came back my bottle was still there, so I kicked the machine again, an tried inserting my arm in its orifice but that had an anti theft device (who knew?), and then realised that the delivery mechanism was a kind of Archimedes screw, and if I bought the bottle of Coke (item no 66) it might unravel my bottle while trying to deliver the Coke. So I bet another 2.70 euros and hey presto it worked - probably designed that way. I wonder what would have happened if I had rung the Selecta helpline. The Indian decorator was very impressed.
A literal bag lady (see photograph - well you probably won't as I've left my SSD card reader at Bonnevaux) - I think she must live in the airport, with her trolley piled high with bags, of bags. Strangely she was Chinese looking too, but I don't think she's going anywhere. Rather sweet that she wasn't being hassled by "securidee".
Loads of charging points and free wi-fi. I'll have another fag and go through security and see if I can get a coffee.
I concerned email from Belle - she hadn't heard from me (or thought she hadn't) for a week, so I gave her my news.
How beautiful everyone looks, in all their varieties of glamour and ugliness. I look a little like a bag lady myself, a batty bearded old man pushing a trolley with hardly anything on it. I'd write a poem about French ladies gliding around with their wheely suitcases, as if they were taking their dogs for walks, or being walked by their suitcases. But I can't be arsed.
Nearly got me. Miniatures of J&B Rare winking at me in the Brioche Doree in the departures lounge.
Bristol, Bergamo, Bonnevaux - sort of sounds right.
Still can't believe I'm going to do this. Bob Snell from the Mills Almshouses rang me yesterday, they have a vacancy. That would be much more sensible . . . but I feel so at home here, even with my crap French. It doesn't feel foreign, strange, exotic. Bonnevaux and Poitou Charentes feel more real than Sweffling and Framlingham, the same but with added something. And strange how everything worked out. I wasn't doing it, it's been doing me - all I had to do was lie back and enjoy the ride, even my panics in the middle of it all. And it's funny, I've never felt like this about France before, it was always felt strange, slightly hostile, not terribly pleased to see me. Now it feels like home, or that I'm welcome anyway. Must get on with babbel.
comment for Belle's blog
Just wanted to share a small victory. 6 months ago I was at Athens Airport feeling like death after two weeks drinking and sunshine on Naxos. Last night on my way home from Poitiers in France to the UK I had to spend 10 hours at Paris Charles de Gaulle waiting for my flight at 7.25 am. It was cold(ish), uncomfortable - nowhere to sleep / lie down - and I was exhausted having worked non-stop to finish my project, from 5am to 5pm. I was going to treat myself to a nice meal, but couldn't find one, so snacked and avoided the beers and whiskies (I'm on Day 40, btw). I tried to buy a soft drink from a vending machine, but it jammed. I thumped it but the drink was stuck on another bottle and wouldn't shift. In the good old days I'd have probably given it a good kicking and let the whole thing ruin my night. But then I realised if I bought the bottle of Coke that my bottle was jammed on, I might get mine out, and a Coke. It worked. About 4am after a very uncomfortable few hours on an airport seat, and cold, I went through to departures to see if I could get a coffee and a croissant. The Brioche Dorée displayed a row of whisky miniatures at my eye height . . . but I settled for coffee. How glad I was to feel OK - very tired, but sober and not hungover and although the night had hardly been a pleasure, it was fine really. And soon I'll be home, and badly in need of a nice hot bath and bed. And while waiting for my flight, I took my first French lesson with babbel (I recommend it) - it was really fun, I discovered what a gerondif is (very useful, ends in -ant). Thanks Belle, and you all.
Got back to Pol's early and had a quick bite with her, then a searingly hot bath and went to bed with the electric blanket on. Listened to the one o'clock news for two boring headlines and woke up at 7.30pm. Pol had gone to church to be ashed. Did not feel like getting up.
Walked to the CoOp and loaded up on limes, cranberry, tonic, NA beers and home for supper. Pol asked to see my photos of Bonnevaux. Then after a bit she didn't want to see any more (I'd only shown her the first 100) but I made her anyway. She was really really interested in my plumbing. And bought her some carnations for Valentine's Day. She came back from church and changed her mind about going away, so she's going to take me home to Sweffling tomorrow on her way to Pen's. She only booked me for house minding so that I'd actually come back today. If she'd changed her mind two days ago, I'd still be in Bonnevaux being driven off the irritability scale by Rebecca and still working on the Edspace. The ways of the Spirit are truly remarkable. Unfortunately Salamander Stoves who make the Hobbit need at least 3 weeks to produce one, and Steve is booked to collect the caravan in exactly 3 weeks, so I may have to come up with another plan. Try the Kitchen Shop in Fram.
It's 11.30 and I'm ready for bed. Pip pip!
I found a Selecta vending machine next to the toilettes (shut for redecorating, I suppose it makes sense at 2 in the morning, when else would you redecorate a loo in an airport) and it took contactless cards so I tried out my Triodos card and got a bag of crisps. The bottle of Orangina jammed on its way down and got its neck stuck in another rack, of Cokes. I kicked and thumped the machine to no avail and went off for a pee. When I came back my bottle was still there, so I kicked the machine again, an tried inserting my arm in its orifice but that had an anti theft device (who knew?), and then realised that the delivery mechanism was a kind of Archimedes screw, and if I bought the bottle of Coke (item no 66) it might unravel my bottle while trying to deliver the Coke. So I bet another 2.70 euros and hey presto it worked - probably designed that way. I wonder what would have happened if I had rung the Selecta helpline. The Indian decorator was very impressed.
A literal bag lady (see photograph - well you probably won't as I've left my SSD card reader at Bonnevaux) - I think she must live in the airport, with her trolley piled high with bags, of bags. Strangely she was Chinese looking too, but I don't think she's going anywhere. Rather sweet that she wasn't being hassled by "securidee".
Loads of charging points and free wi-fi. I'll have another fag and go through security and see if I can get a coffee.
I concerned email from Belle - she hadn't heard from me (or thought she hadn't) for a week, so I gave her my news.
How beautiful everyone looks, in all their varieties of glamour and ugliness. I look a little like a bag lady myself, a batty bearded old man pushing a trolley with hardly anything on it. I'd write a poem about French ladies gliding around with their wheely suitcases, as if they were taking their dogs for walks, or being walked by their suitcases. But I can't be arsed.
Nearly got me. Miniatures of J&B Rare winking at me in the Brioche Doree in the departures lounge.
Bristol, Bergamo, Bonnevaux - sort of sounds right.
Still can't believe I'm going to do this. Bob Snell from the Mills Almshouses rang me yesterday, they have a vacancy. That would be much more sensible . . . but I feel so at home here, even with my crap French. It doesn't feel foreign, strange, exotic. Bonnevaux and Poitou Charentes feel more real than Sweffling and Framlingham, the same but with added something. And strange how everything worked out. I wasn't doing it, it's been doing me - all I had to do was lie back and enjoy the ride, even my panics in the middle of it all. And it's funny, I've never felt like this about France before, it was always felt strange, slightly hostile, not terribly pleased to see me. Now it feels like home, or that I'm welcome anyway. Must get on with babbel.
comment for Belle's blog
Just wanted to share a small victory. 6 months ago I was at Athens Airport feeling like death after two weeks drinking and sunshine on Naxos. Last night on my way home from Poitiers in France to the UK I had to spend 10 hours at Paris Charles de Gaulle waiting for my flight at 7.25 am. It was cold(ish), uncomfortable - nowhere to sleep / lie down - and I was exhausted having worked non-stop to finish my project, from 5am to 5pm. I was going to treat myself to a nice meal, but couldn't find one, so snacked and avoided the beers and whiskies (I'm on Day 40, btw). I tried to buy a soft drink from a vending machine, but it jammed. I thumped it but the drink was stuck on another bottle and wouldn't shift. In the good old days I'd have probably given it a good kicking and let the whole thing ruin my night. But then I realised if I bought the bottle of Coke that my bottle was jammed on, I might get mine out, and a Coke. It worked. About 4am after a very uncomfortable few hours on an airport seat, and cold, I went through to departures to see if I could get a coffee and a croissant. The Brioche Dorée displayed a row of whisky miniatures at my eye height . . . but I settled for coffee. How glad I was to feel OK - very tired, but sober and not hungover and although the night had hardly been a pleasure, it was fine really. And soon I'll be home, and badly in need of a nice hot bath and bed. And while waiting for my flight, I took my first French lesson with babbel (I recommend it) - it was really fun, I discovered what a gerondif is (very useful, ends in -ant). Thanks Belle, and you all.
Got back to Pol's early and had a quick bite with her, then a searingly hot bath and went to bed with the electric blanket on. Listened to the one o'clock news for two boring headlines and woke up at 7.30pm. Pol had gone to church to be ashed. Did not feel like getting up.
Walked to the CoOp and loaded up on limes, cranberry, tonic, NA beers and home for supper. Pol asked to see my photos of Bonnevaux. Then after a bit she didn't want to see any more (I'd only shown her the first 100) but I made her anyway. She was really really interested in my plumbing. And bought her some carnations for Valentine's Day. She came back from church and changed her mind about going away, so she's going to take me home to Sweffling tomorrow on her way to Pen's. She only booked me for house minding so that I'd actually come back today. If she'd changed her mind two days ago, I'd still be in Bonnevaux being driven off the irritability scale by Rebecca and still working on the Edspace. The ways of the Spirit are truly remarkable. Unfortunately Salamander Stoves who make the Hobbit need at least 3 weeks to produce one, and Steve is booked to collect the caravan in exactly 3 weeks, so I may have to come up with another plan. Try the Kitchen Shop in Fram.
It's 11.30 and I'm ready for bed. Pip pip!
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