Slaughtered Lamb hosts The Low Anthem

After the car phoning me, I spent the rest of the day in a video conference with three other European locations, which went on until around 20:00. Now I'm in a hotel with an excellent view of a foreign runway. I can't hear the planes, but I swear I can smell that aviation fuel aroma.

The good news today was that we found out that the fabulous band 'The Low Anthem' are doing a couple of London gigs next month in Farringdon at the Slaughtered Lamb.

We've managed to bag a few tickets for both nights.

UPDATE: Reviewed here

thoughtful car averts chase by cops

I prevented a Police car chase today when my own car decided to phone me.

"Ring Ring", it went.
"Hello", I said.
"Hello I'm your car, registration blah blah blah".
"Huh?"
"I might have been stolen, check whether I'm where you think I should be..."
"Huh?"
"Press 1 if I've been stolen or 2 if you know I've been moved without the key"
"Huh?...Ahah!"
"You pressed the button to say I've not been stolen"...
...and so it went on.
Yes.
They've taken my busted car away on a flat bed trailer to have the springy-ness re-boinged. It will return a veritable Tigger in a day or two. Meantime I'll be driving to Heathrow in the green teapot.

editing the week to sound bites

As I tippy-tap these posts, I can't help thinking how much of an edit there is between what happens and what gets recorded.

I've already been back to the UK and then flown out to another place by the time I write this and as an account of 'le mini-break' it misses huge amounts of the experience.

But I take that as a good thing - the richness - yet also a mystery that sometimes I get stuck about what to write. So amongst the things I've skipped over would be the fashion show on the beach, sponsored by NRJ radio (it took me ages to work that one out). The curious addiction to cafe liegeois. The flat above the music shop. Knowing the short cuts through the cobbled streets in Dinant. A nostalgic visit to the Casino at the Hotel Normandy. Hearing a story of domestic neglect whilst winding through lanes in Brittany. The whole Absinthe saga. Le Pot d'Etain for four. I think that's enough.

Normal service will resume shortly.

the small cow was a sign that we were tourists

More search for sea and sand between the toes on Saturday, after starting with a visit to the market.

I would have said French Market, with its calvados, fromage, huitres and smokey saucisson. Très magnifique as they might say.

Luckily our local friend was able to point out the tell tale signs of us being treated as tourists, although even I suspected something when the milk for the coffee arrived in a little cow shaped jug. Small children passing were saying 'La vache' - so I suppose it was still broadly educational.

Many locals were meeting and greeting one another and then with perfect timing, two people I'd met for the first time the previous day strolled right past our table. So we greeted one another in a proper French style and then they looked at our little cow and we looked at their leeks. You had to be there. Emily handed over the dozen eggs destined for the evening's omelettes and we headed for the coast with the lid down on the car.

the mediaeval village divulges a popular restaurant

Part of the plan behind this trip was to meet friends in a nearby French village, around a kilometer from our hotel, which we achieved with superb co-ordination.

We also headed for other nearby locations such as the mediaeval village on a rock in the Manche. Mont St Michel could be a set for a film and would tax the finest Disney Imagineers to create something with as many twists and turns.

We strolled the ramparts and finally stopped in a restaurant where countless well known people had dined, including Presidents, Kings, Prime Ministers, film stars and singers. Close to our table were signatures from the Bolshevik-Leninist Leon Trotsky, ex UK Conservative leader Margaret Thatcher and the straw hatted french singer Maurice Chevalier.

after the journey, the quicksand was nothing

After the mechanical, industrial and documentary challenges we finally made it across to France. A change of plan and a different hotel for the first evening, before onward to Normandy.

And in keeping with the spirit of the journey we soon found a dangerous beach, and then subsequently an area sign-posted with quicksand warnings.

borderline decisions impeding progress

The journey to Folkestone worked.

In the spare car, with the silver one to be taken away to be fixed next Monday. We even managed to zig and zag our way through the blockade and past all of the lorries parked on the M20.

Right the way through to the French control point at the tunnel. We were even on time for our originally planned crossing.

Feeling pretty good.

The inevitable question about tickets and passports. I had all the necessary documentation, but my accomplice did not. Merely a driving licence. I'd asked about the passport when we were only a mile from home. Let's say I didn't ask in a clear or precise enough way.

Anyway, we've now been refused entry to France and have a form to prove it. Invited to the little white room by a pleasant gendarme for questioning and paperwork. Then escorted from the French part of the UK end of the Tunnel back to British jurisdiction, by security.

Actually, I'm in the clear.

I can still come and go as I please. But right now I'm waiting for the other passport to be retrieved. Having run the gauntlet of roadblocks, Operation Stack and similar, we decided it was best for me to sit here with the car.

I've been doing work emails on my blackberry and now moved onto my Macbook Pro. In a moment I may write a new novel. There should be enough time.

shock car moment

My car has decided it doesn't want to go to France. I was just getting ready to throw some luggage into the boot, when I noticed it had adopted a lower slung look than customary. I walked to the front and my foot clipped half a serious looking metal ring laying on the ground.

I think it has been looking at too many pictures of French Citroens or something. The new low-slung look was an effect of a shock absorber catastrophe. I noticed a clunk sound when I was driving back from Heathrow yesterday, and fear that something important has snapped.

Oh well, it looks as if the little blue convertible will be making the trip to France instead.

UPDATE:
Motorists have been warned to expect serious delays due to Operation Stack being implemented on the M20.

Industrial action at the French ports of Calais, Boulogne and Dunkirk is preventing ferries from crossing the Channel, meaning freight must use a section of the motorway as a giant lorry park.

Fishermen are protesting at ever tougher EU-imposed fishing quotas, and are calling for more support from their government.

Police are closing the coast-bound carriageway between junctions eight (Leeds Castle) and nine (Ashford West), with motorists being asked to find alternative routes.

Eurotunnel will continue to transport freight and people who have already secured bookings.

I wonder if our ticket will still work?

another day, another country

The alarm did ring at four thirty this morning heralding my day trip to another city. I was at the airport by five forty five and sitting on the plane before many sane people had managed their first coffee.

I was able to travel light though, so made up time at the other end, finally arriving at my destination by around ten fifteen - having lost an hour in the time zone process.

A rather intense working day, another airport and I'm now about to search out insurance documents ready for a short trip to France tomorrow in the car.

waterwitch

Continuing yesterday's mud theme, this morning we decided to stroll the canal towpath, although there were a surprising number of like-minded others, including the occasional traffic jam of ramblers.

We headed for the Waterwitch and sat in the garden interrupted for a few minutes with someone's 'child stuck in tree' interlude.

The sun shone, and it was enjoyable to roam without driven purpose. That can wait for tomorrow, when I start at 04:30. I have already set the alarm.

no panic in the woods

A lazy morning, followed by a splendid, if rather large, lunch at the Leather Bottle.

Luckily we had a good plan to burn a few calories in the woods in the afternoon, although it became a rather muddy experience.

We managed to scramble over a few fallen trees and past miscellaneous wildlife including the ponies and a rather suspicious looking fuzzy brown sheep.

I may have just glimpsed Pan this time, although I'm sure I'll get a better look when we visit the Barbican

it's breakfast, but not as we know it

Sometimes its best to just ease into the day. The first cupcakes of Spring show early positive signs of a turnaround in fortunes.