Midnight on the day I am leaving for Gospel Tour. My suitcase lays empty. My laundry lays draped around my room encompassing varying degrees of moisture. My passport lies in an unknown location. Downstairs lay 5 exhausted first years, propped up on make shift beds, giggling at the Vicar of Dibley. I regret having gone out for dinner and drinks. I decide to begin with the essentials. I pack the lilo.
The ferry sways across the channel as friends stockpile cheap wine and I eat a diabolical excuse of a burger. We play arcade games to pass the time.
The coach trundles through the rolling hills of France. I teach Gary to knit. Luke teaches us card tricks.
The coach purrs into a service station in Luxembourg. We delight in finding a vending machine filled purely of milk. In the shop we purchase bars of marzipan from the sweet section. The homemade cheese rolls lay forgotten in a rucksac. Outside we discover an adventure playground. Delight ensues. We let off steam fighting to go down the bumpy slide first, and bouncy the highest on the bunjee.
Night begins to settle on Belgium. We watch 10 Things I Hate About You. I manage to drift to sleep. It becomes uncomfortably hot. I awake 2hrs later. Me and Leah, by a miracle, seperate to double seats. I fall asleep until our 6am morning stop.
We awake in Italy. The heavens are open and we dance across a puddle strewn road, heads down against the pin pricks of chilled rain. Struggling to navigate the bizarre queuing system we use shaky italian to order croissants, the undetermined fillings a surprise.
We purr through the north of Italy. The industries busy at the road side cannot detract from the peace of the farmsteds visible among the foothills. No one else is awake to appreciate this.
We arrive: Lido de Jesolo.
No comments:
Post a Comment