On Geography and Choices

Let me share this with you. Portsmouth and Plymouth are two different cities. Not only that, they are some distance apart, in fact three hours apart if you are driving, which is inconvenient if the ferry you need is in the other place and you only have an hour or so before you should be on it.

It’s no use, in these circumstances, to look at the range of destinations lit in neon above the lanes of caravans and cars hoping to find one that will deposit you close to where you’d planned to be. Nor is there much use in getting angry or bitter; there are always choices and adventures aren’t adventures if they follow a plan.

In this case the available destinations shown are all in Normandy. I’ve been there before. I went on a ferry and a motorbike. My Dad went there too some time ago, only he went on a Dakota and a parachute.  With a bit of luck no one will be shooting at me when I get there. 

The nice young woman behind the desk did not underline my idiocy but laid out my choices. Overnight to St Malo sleeping in what they call a ‘couchette’, which is French for ‘uncomfortable platform for passing a sleepless night listening to other people pass wind’. No. 

Le Havre is perfect, but has no room. So not so perfect then. 

I could go to Plymouth, there is a boat to Bilbao tonight, but it arrives on Tuesday as it counts as a ‘cruise’. Some people, apparently, don’t get off. But then some people wear matching jumpers with a picture of their dog on them,  so the fact that they stay on a boat where the highest form of entertainment is a clown and 4 slot machines shouldn’t be a surprise. 

Caen, I can have a cabin, with a view. Arrive at 9.30pm and then, in the intervening hours, decide what to do.  So, that’s where I am now.  In the cafe in a nearly empty boat. Apparently everyone’s going to Spain. 

By the time you read this I will have made my choice, or my choice will have selected itself. 

If the internet were working out here I’d look up ‘serendipity’