Southampton for tea

My Uncle and Aunt were in Southampton for 3 days.  They live in Australia and haven’t been to blighty for 15 years and it was Mum’s birthday. So why not shoot up through Spain, catch a ferry to Portsmouth than scoot back to Dunkirk and continue on the quest.  A ram packed 2 weeks.

We caught the ferry from Bilbao and spent a pleasant afternoon in the Guggenheim. A wonderfully curved building with an unfortunate haughty tone generated by overzealous staff.  (Hazel would not have been able to pick up the stone installation in the middle of the floor anyway)

We then sauntered to the port towards a menacing sea and retreating Sea Gulls.  When the load master spends 3 hours hand picking vehicles from each lane to even the load, then bolts the lorries down, you know it’s going to be rough.

A few things that emphasis you are on a rough crossing:

1)     You look towards the stern and you can either see the sky or the Atlantic not both at the same time

2)     The cafe stops serving chips for fear the chip fat will slop out the fryers.

3)     The cafe staff look at each other when the boat tilts to one side and then keeps tilting, as if to say is this the one?

4)     You have to lean against the wall when having a shower.

We took sea sick drugs and stayed in the cabin.

Arriving in Portsmouth 5 hours late, the roads at 1.30am are quite and my “which side of the road fear" was not tested.  

We enjoyed much too much good food, generous hospitality, we got to see lots of family and the van has winter tyres.  

Thank you all once again, oh and I had some emergency work on my teeth.  I have not yet learnt to suck boiled sweets and not try to crunch them.

So off again from Dunkirk, greeted by an announcement, “today’s crossing will be rough” This isn’t rough.  Bay of Biscay, January, force 9 gales, that’s rough, I muttered.  A night in Antwerp, which is like a happening Bruges, lovely place. Rubens masterpieces in the Cathedral and a pervading smell of chocolate.  Then a slog of a drive through flat, undramatic motorways to Kleve, as in Ann of, in Northern Germany, to Dr Watsons house for the weekend.  More lovely hospitality with the family Watson and off to Cologne tomorrow.   What a two weeks.