Ferry across the Mercy

Boarding the ferry for Santander at Portsmouth was quite stressful, Mainly due to the impatience of That Nice Lady Decorator. Let’s face it; she does not do queuing. She does not do patient, and she does not suffer fools gladly. By fools, I mean someone like me who can look at a situation with equanimity, realise that the staff are trying to do a job in difficult circumstances, accept that there may be a delay and just absorb that fact into the fabric of life. It is not just that she does she not does not suffer fools, but she will not suffer unnecessary delay, especially after a couple of beers, without ensuring that those reasonable at left in do doubt as to their failing a. What is more is that she also does not do restraint. Despite my continual and constantly failing attempts to calm her, I knew I was fighting a losing battle. A bit like trying to smother a nuclear bomb with a fire blanket.

She appears to be of the opinion that patience is for the pathetic. Thus after some 40 minutes in the queue for the ferry she was seething with unrighteous indignation. Then the primer kicked in. The chap in the car in front had made an error of some sort, something I later discovered was something to do with a late rabies booster jab for his pet, and thus he held up the line in which we were placed for some 10 minutes. His jovial gesticulations indicating that he was sorry were unfortunately accompanied by an inane grin. These two characteristics were not exactly what I wanted to see when trying to head of an eruption, and something similar to Vesuvius was quickly in evidence.

Steephill Bay, close to Ventnor on the Isle Of Wight

So boarding did not go well, and when we were made to park in a position which precluded her being able to open her side of the car, I decided to pop the earplugs in and retire to a bar far away. It is usually for the best and us mostly over quickly, as the explosion is then followed by a period of reflection, self-justification and then amnesia. It never happened. Just for the record, I have never received an apology for anything which has not been followed by the word “but”. On this occasion even the apology did not surface.

So yesterday was spent lounging around mostly around the bars of the ferry, as despite the sunshine, the combination of the boat travelling into the wind and the wind, it was quite cool outside. Her mood was not enhanced by the squalid conditions in which the catastrophic canine Banjo was being held. If you have ever seen the film Midnight Express, then you may get the picture, although there was arguably less buggery on board the Brittany Ferries service to northern Spain. Even so had a faint twinge of unease. Only fainting , and certainly not long-lasting. Not as long-lasting as the benefits of opening an account with Currencies Direct anyway.

We finally docked at around 6pm and after a brief and violent disagreement with the sat nav of Skip 2 ( That Nice Lady Decorator’s new vehicle) we set off in a westerly direction in search of a hotel. It is so irksome when foreigners refuse to speak proper English, and so eventually we ended up at a hotel in St Vincent de la Barquera , which was modern and soulless, but was close enough to the town for the pursuit of tapas and a glass of wine. Rioja at 1.50 a glass made everything seem worthwhile.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News