Do concepts have heads? Never mind.
On Tuesday morning we'll be loading up the car again. We're driving down to Portsmouth and in the early evening will drive onto a boat. Quite a big boat, actually. Ten hours later we'll be disgorged in St Malo. And after several hours of driving (remembering the whole 'anti-clockwise round the roundabouts' thing) we'll fetch up at our home for the next two weeks. Officially in the middle of nowhere.
There will be none of these internets. In fact, electricity will be a bit touch-and-go at times. Great. At night, the sky will be black. Not that off-grey we get in cities. Crypt black, with a smattering of silver stars. And silent. No underhum of distant traffic. Real pindrop quiet.
For the next two weeks, this is what I'll be using instead of a laptop:
No power cable, no overheating lap, no bashing my head against the wall at the idiocy that is Mr Gates' finest.
It's somewhat ironic that the preparations for a holiday are such that you actually need a holiday to get over them. The last couple of weeks has been a whirl of officialdom. Passports, travel insurance, ferry bookings, stopover hotels.
The act of driving over there is complicated, and not just the left-hand kerb-hugging aspect. I've needed to get various bits of paper that prove I'm allowed to drive the car over there (it's a company car so not registered in my name), insurance certificate, breakdown cover, registration documents. Then such items as a warning triangle, GB plates, headlight converters, first aid kit, fire extinguisher, spare bulb kit and hi-vis jacket. Apparently the Gendarmerie like to pull over British motorists just to check they've got all this stuff. Maybe they've got shares in Halfords.
Add in a heady mix of packing, together with attempting to clear stuff at work so nothing serious blows up in the meantime. And I have a screenplay to write, too. And a second blog. And another website, related to the screenplay thingy. No wonder I'm seriously knackered.
Still, Katie thinks I need new trainers. "Save them for your holidays," she says.
We're going to be in the middle of rural Brittany, surrounded my horny-handed sons of the soil called Yves and Henri. Quite frankly, box-fresh trainers aren't going to impress.
Anyway. As a result you're going to have to look after yourselves for a fortnight or so. Don't forget to come back, won't you?
6 comments:
My word, that is a big boat isn't it? Sounds like you've got yourselves all organised. How divine, spending all that time in France *sigh*
Oh and thank you for bringing it to my attention in my own comment box...like I'd forgotten you were going away or something...sheesh. Don't you realise, that if you were actually in NZ somewhere, I'd be stalking you already??! haha
I'm just a bit concerned about the Freudian slippage of "surrounded my horny-handed sons of the soil called Yves and Henri" what kind of screen play are you writing and fancy forgeting Bertrand?!?
Have a fabulously crepey/cidery time of it!
We'll muddle through SOMEHOW for the next two weeks while you're crepe-ing it up in Brittany.
Just a thought: When you and Katie Girl are all alone, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the middle of the deep, black night...I wouldn't mention the word "crypt" if I were you. Would definitely put a damper on the mood. ::wink, wink, nudge, nudge::
Missing you!
your blog rocks, first time reader and already addicted.
Thanks all. And welcome to just a girl. Put your feet up, make yourself at home. Am writing this via iPod touch and hotel wifi in Portsmouth. Brittany was....interesting. Will try to write more when we get home tomorrow.
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