Minnie’s Musings

Nothing like a car ferry queue for rampant judgement or mindless staring at fellow passengers (if I am being charitable).

I have sacrificed myself on the alter of others entertainment by attempting to change into my plimsoles only to see my right sock flutter off in the direction of Calais. In my bare feet I caught up with offending item and stamped on it with my big toe before it could make good its escape. Perhaps I shall have a new career with Border Force, catching migrants with a flick of a digit.

So, you don’t need to be in school to suffer ritual humiliation in front of a bunch of teenagers. I trotted off to the terminal building and – remembering that there is another loo upstairs so no need to join lengthy queue by the front door – attempted to climb the rather shallow stairs. And tripped. Landed as close as you can to flat on your face as is possible on a staircase.

I might of sworn. Nice German teenagers asked if I was okay. I hope they were German. I hope no one took a picture.

Anyway we are now sitting behind white Skoda Fabia discussing the addition of an inver grave accent above the S. The newer version in the next aisle has no accent.

Driver of white Fabia has spent a long time fastidiously cleaning his windscreen, my Best Beloved tells me. He was also observed pinching out his cigarette on the way to the terminal. Very Old School we agreed.

I comment on this because I am reading Richard Harris Precipice where a minor character (soldier about to leave for France) pinches out his cigarette. I wonder how many people do that still.

Anyway ones Best Beloved is slightly taller than me and appears to have seen a lorry move towards the ferry. Ooooo red lights and movement. Ta ta!