… is looking rather worse for wear these days. It seems that a little bit more of the gable roof has disappeared. So much for my plans to donate it to a worthy cause. I tried several of these historic villages to see if anyone wanted it, but no-one did, even if I offered to pay the transportation.

I only hope that if it does fall right down, it’ll fall across the border into the USA. Usually I seem to be able to attract trouble without going out to look for it, so a frontier incident or border war should be right up my street.

Talking of frontier incidents and border wars, last night I was working for the STIB – the Société de Transports Intercommunale de Bruxelles as a bus driver. They started me off on an easy route, just following one main road, but even I managed to complicate matters and deviate from the plan … "no surprise there " – ed.

The next day they were planning to send me out driving the route 23. I’ve no idea where that goes to but last night in the Land of Nod it was the bus that hugged the roads back and to across the linguistic frontier between Flanders and Wallonie. That was a route that was the subject of endless confrontations between drivers and the public as a French-speaking driver would be harassed by the Flemish and a Flemish driver would be harassed by the Walloons, and there was no way of having a typical Belgian compromise and splitting the route. Putting an Anglophone driver on the bus would be a red rag to everyone.

However the depot where the 23 was garaged was also the subject of complications. It was far too small for the purpose of garaging the buses that were needed in the vicinity – just an island dividing two carriageways, but neither the Flemish or Walloon communities would agree to its expansion or its displacement elsewhere as it would give some kind of advantage to the other community.

Sounds just like real Belgium, doesn’t it?

Regular readers of this rubbish will not need to be told where the Saint John River might be. It’s in a steep-sided valley, and although it is nothing like as steep as the valley of the Sioule near home, it’s steep enough and you’ll be able to guess quite easily.

Yes, it was cold during the night and when I took this photo, at about 08:30, it was a mere 7°C.

I went to see the guy who was supposed to be looking for a vehicle for me, and his (rather predictable, I’m afraid) response was “ohh, I forgot all about you after a month or so”. It seems that it’s too much like hard work for a businessman to haul himself out of a chair and earn a couple of dollars these days. Rather sit at home and let the dollars flow through his fingers. What a sad state the Western World is coming to when businessmen can’t even be bothered to earn some money.

I tell you now, customer service in North America is disappearing rapidly down the tubes. It’ll be like Belgium soon.

So after checking on Hall Towers, I crossed the border into the USA. I went over at Riviere de Chute, the same crossing point as last year, and it was the same miserable old whatsit on duty, but just for a change he was cheerful and happy. No idea what was happening there.

So negotiating the Amish horse buggies I arrived in Presque-Ile to some devastating news. The huge Salvation Army Thrift Centre has closed down. I had a pile of good books and music from there last year and this was my main reason for going.

Still, I could always go to the local florists and buy some suitable flowers to express my feelings, but if Cooks Florists had any flowers to express the feelings that I was having right at that particular moment I would have been very surprised indeed.

I wonder if there’s a Trading Standards Bureau in the USA that checks for misleading advertising. I think we should be told.

Still, not to be outdone, I went old-car hunting, and look at this!

This is a Freeway, a three-wheeled vehicle made by a company called HM Vehicles in Burnsville, Minnesota. That was a company that made vehicles for just 3 years, 1979 to 1982, before closing down.

This vehicle is one of only about 700 ever made, so it’s as rare as hens’ teeth, and what remains of it, because you would need to be dedicated to have a go at restoring this one, is available for purchase at a mere $2500, or near offer.

I suppose that there would be some takers at that price, and I might be interested myself. It would fit into my suitcase and would probably come within the weight of my baggage allowance too.

That wasn’t the only interesting car either. There were plenty of others, including this one. This is a Nash Metropolitan, either a Series III or a IV, and the claim to fame of these cars is that they were built by Austin at Longbridge for Nash, the American car company and were imported for sale in North America – the first car ever to be totally built abroad on behalf of a USA manufacturer. There will even probably still be the old 1489cc BMC B-series engine in there.

A few were sold in the UK and people with long memories will remember the pile of them dumped and abandoned for years on the waste land at the side of Grocott’s garage in Wistaston, Crewe in the late 1960s and early 70s.

I could cry when I think of that, how rare these cars are now.

I headed on back to Canada afterwards, and at the frontier I was once more given a hard time, this time by a Canadian border official. I just don’t understand what it is with border officials. Do they have to undergo a surgical operation to remove their goodwill, good humour and pleasant disposition before they are appointed to a post?

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