Having friends with interesting cars is a wonderful thing and I recommend it. Having friends who want to do interesting things with their interesting cars is even better! Having friends who want to do interesting things with their interesting cars, but who also have (interesting) wives who don’t want to play with those cars is the absolute best!!
In the summer, Andrew wanted to take his Lotus Elise to France for a quick spin around Normandy but his wife showed her slight reluctance by stating, “I’m not going anywhere in that. It’s uncomfortable, breaks down every two minutes – and it’s a terrible colour!” This left the door open for me to volunteer to (kindly) accompany him on the planned voyage so I did the decent thing and put my name forward as co-driver for the expedition.
Having booked the ferry and told everyone we were going, Andrew did what farmers do best: started complaining about the weather! Due to some unexpected precipitation he hadn’t been able to plough his cows, or some such excuse. The trip was duly postponed until the October half-term holiday which, as every schoolboy knows, is the optimum time of year for touring in open-top cars.
We finally departed these shores on Monday 25th October, bound for we knew not where (the Normandy bit was out as Andrew had forgotten to make arrangements with his friend whose cottage we were intending to use as a base).
Like farmers, French workers are an unpredictable bunch and had decided to hide all the petrol somewhere so that we might not be able to fill up all week. With this in mind, we headed west(ish) from Calais in the hopes that, should we not be able to track down any French petrol, we could hop over the border and try a drop of the German stuff. As it turned out, we had no trouble finding fuel all week (paying for it was a different matter!) and Germany was one of only three countries in Europe that we never got to see (OK, slight exaggeration).
We spent the first night in Verdun, a town I’d never before visited but certainly hope I get chance to do so again. Our hotel on the outskirts of town was nothing special, but the taxi driver we used to get into town for evening refreshments made up for it. On the way into town, he regaled us (in French I hasten to add) with tales of how the English had saved the town in The Great War and how in consequence, every citizen of Verdun was a devout Anglophile. He drove us round the town centre, pointing out the sights and best watering holes and then dropped us exactly where we could find the highest concentration of both within easy walking distance. He even knocked a couple of Euros off the bill as we didn’t have the right change! As we parted, he promised that if we returned to the same spot at 11 o’clock and gave him a quick ring, he’d come and take us home again.
Following a walk round the gun emplacements, restaurants and bars (all very jolly!) we made our way to the predetermined location and I rang the number our man had given us. The call was answered by a woman whose English was (astoundingly) worse than my French. It took some time, but eventually I was able to make out that there was a slight problem with a broken down vehicle and that we’d have to wait another half-hour. Manfully fighting back the tears, Andrew and I located the nearest bar and partook of another small drink (or two).
By the time we got back to the pick-up point, the night was absolutely freezing and there was still no sign of the taxi. We waited by a small floodlit tower for half an hour, warming ourselves over the incredibly hot lights, but then got bored and decided to knock on the door of the nearby Gendarmerie to see if they could help us track down another taxi firm.
It turned out there was no such thing to be found at that time of night in all Verdun and so we bravely launched ourselves, best foot forward, in the vague direction of the hotel.
We’d walked about half a mile (hoping that eventually we’d spot a sign to
indicate we were going the right way) when our taxi suddenly pulled up alongside us! It turned out that a tyre had punctured and the driver then discovered his spare was flat too. Knowing he was keeping us waiting, the driver had pulled out all the stops and had managed to get it fixed late at night so he could come to our rescue! No two ways about, the man was a thoroughly good egg and deserves to be made an honorary Englishman.
