Sunday 8th September 2013 – “NOTHING IS MORE EMPTY …

… than a deserted fairground” said John Betjeman in his book First and Last Loves.

So I reckon that he must have been to Clinton, Maine in the past because, believe me, this was empty and deserted. Mind you, it was something silly like 07:30 in the morning in the middle of a torrential rainstorm so that might have something to do with it.

Anyway, we didn’t hang around any and we were on Interstate 95 pretty early heading back northwards. A stop at Dysart’s truckstop for breakfast (for me, beans on toast with hash browns on the side) but, unfortunately, no cheerleaders, and then off shopping to a place called Sam’s Club.

Anyone from the UK will immediately recognise the concept only under another name – Makro – a trade warehouse for small businesses.

We ended up with three trolley-loads of stuff to bring home but I reckon that I won the prize, finding a copy of “Dragon”, the speech recognition software that works with my new dictaphone, and all for $45, which is cheap in any kind of currency.

We were so long in there that the sun was out when we left, and by the time we arrived at Houlton, it was a pleasant evening. Here we changed partners. Darren and Rachel were in a rush to get back home but Zoe still needed some shopping so I swapped passengers, and Zoe and I went on a rather fruitless expedition around some of the Houlton shops.

The border crossing is at Bridgewater in Maine – that brings us over to Centreville, and here at Bridgewater is a junkyard and a sight that you don’t see every day – a scrap Rolls Royce. THat shows you just how much these new Rolls Royes have degenerated since the days of the Silver Cloud in the earky 1960s.

It’s not the first Rolls Royce that I’ve seen in a scrapyard. The legendary McGuinness’s in Longport, Stoke on Trent had a Rolls Royce in there for a few years, but that was full of silt to a depth of about 9 inches – clearly major flood damage and probably only Third-Party insurance. Beyond the financial capability of anyone to put right, I imagine.

But this one seems to be undamaged in the general scheme of things – I reckon a major repair bill that is beyond the capacity of the owner to put right and enough to frighten off any prospective purchaser.

But what a way for a Roller to meet its end – stuck at the back of a junkyard off the beaten track in the wilds of Maine. That’s a sad story.

-2

Saturday 7th September 2013 – JUST BY WAY OF A CHANGE …

… we’ll start with a video. I’ve not done this before so if it doesn’t work then don’t worry – I’ll sort it out.
While Hannah snaked pretty heavily down the track, you have to remember –
1) Hannah is just 16
2) this is her first year
3) we were having a torrential downpour
4) the track was rubbish
5) she got off the starting line (which was more than a couple of competitors did)
6) she got farther down the field than many people who have been pulling since before she was born.
7) her performance won her some folding stuff, which is always the most importand yardstick by which to mesure everything of course.

As for the town of Clinton itself, it’s a stereotype of the typical American one-horse town in the rural backwoods. Tattoos spelt wrongly, beer everywhere, hamburgers and hotdogs with fries and extra relish, and while the Liver Birds on the Liver Building in Liverpool used to flap their wings when a virgin walked past, here they would flap their wings when someone walked past who was not obese.

Even the fairground rides, such as they were, had, in prominent display, “in the interests of safety, large persons may be refused a ride”. How this lot became the Master Race these days I really have no idea.

The Americans use the word “thick” a lot to describe people. In USA slang, that means “fat” of course but in British slang to call someone “thick” means to call them “stupid” or “ignorant”. So here in the USA it quite possibly means the ame.

So apart from preparing the tractor, watching the racing and then repairing the broken fuel line, that was it. We went to bed.

It may not seem as if we did a lot today but I can’t think of 5 minutes where there was nothing at all going on.

-8

Friday 6th September 2013 – I HAD AN “AT HOME DAY” TODAY

The only difference being that I wasn’t of course at my home but at Rachel’s. I slept for at least part of the night with a cat curled up next to me, something that brought beck memories of course, and after breakfast (and the typical frantic hunt for keys) Zoe and I went off to do a few things.

We went too look at my little kingdom up on the USA border, and then went to see someone to chat to him about Ford Rangers. The Bank in Florenceville was the next port of call but I couldn’t get done there what I needed to do, so we headed to Woodstock. By the time we got to Woodstock we were half a million strong of course and Zoe took me to see her new salon. Now that she’s a qualified and licensed aesthetician after her year ot college in Miramichi she’s planning on opening her own little business and has rented two small rooms. They will be ideal for a newcomer to the business once she sorts herself out.

We ran quite a few errands for her while we were there and after lunch it was back to the Bank where a few (but by no means all) things were sorted out. I went on to the Great Satan to sort out my entry permit and then back to Rachel’s where we loaded everything up for the weekend.

This led to the immortal conversation
Hannah “Will 2 packs of water be enough for us for the weekend?”
Yours Truly “How much beer do we have?”
Hannah “two 36-packs”
Yours Truly “why do we need water then?”
Yes, I’m fast becoming a redneck, aren’t I?

Rachel came with me in the Dodge on the long drive to southern Maine and the highlight of the journey had to be eating chips (or “fries”) in Dysart’s, a typical American truckstop and a team of cheerleaders coming in. A scrawny, scraggy lot, it has to be said but cheerleaders all the same. No, you can’t make up a story like that and I wish that I had taken a camera into the truckstop to prove it.

The pulling track at Clinton, Maine, is cold and wet.

But so what? So am I.

But at least I’ll feel better in the morning.

Hopefully.

-2

Thursday 5th September 2013 – I’VE ARRIVED …

… in New Brunswick now, at Rachel’s house. And arrived an hour late too because, although I know it better than most other people and I even have an extra clock programmed into my computer especially, it went clean out of my mind that the Maritime Provinces are in a different time zone to Québec.

The route itself is quite interesting. For example, when was the last time that you saw a 1940s Morris 8 in the UK? Seeing one over there today would be quite something so seeing one here in Canada is quite something else. This is an E series Morris 8, production of which lasted 10 years from 1938 to 1948.

It’s for sale too and I had a good look, but having the world’s worst body repair and the world’s worst spray job and with loads of bits missing, it’s something that doesn’t have too much of a future unless someone does something about it pretty quickly

Something else that doesn’t have too much of a future is KB882, my Lancaster bomber at Edmundston in New Brunswick. THe owners of it have no idea what they have here – it’s one of only 7 surviving Lancasters and one of only three that flew active service on missions in World War II over Germany and it flew into this airport in 1964 when the locals stuck it on a plinth. And here it sits, 50 years after, having been looted and pillaged ever since.

I have called these people “clowns” and other uncomplimentary names and I know for a fact that they have read my remarks and so I shall continue to call them that until they swallow their pride and hand this aeroplane over to someone who appreciates its value and gives it the respect and repair that it needs. The treatment that KB882 has suffered at the hands of the good burghers of Edmundston is nothing short of a national scandal.

-4

Wednesday 4th September 2013 – NOT MUCH TO SAY …

… today, people … "hooray!" – ed … as I’ve been doing my Jack Kerouac impressions – I’m On The Road.

I’ve not had time to go to search for a ferry to take me across the St Lawrence unfortunately but in keeping with my project of always trying to cross the river by a different route each time, I took to the Pont Pierre Laporte, the Pieere Laporte suspension bridge. That bridge would ordinarily merit a report of its own, being the longest suspension bridge in Canada, but here it’s dwarfed by the magnificent Pont de Quebec, a huge cantilever bridge like the Forth Bridge. You can read all about this bridge here if you like.

The shape of the southern border of Quebec is bizarre – decided by a Dutch arbitrator in 1848 and so if you want to travel south you first have to trave (a considerable way) north-east if you don’t want to set foot in Great Satan. That gives me ample chance to follow the southern shore of the St Lawrence – not my favourite of course as it’s far too urban and civilised, but at least it’s water.

Across the river in Lévis (pronounced Layvee, not Levi’s) there’s a stunning view of the Falls of Montmorency. They are higher than the Niagara Falls, as it happens but not as spectacular and while you can park a car and a thousand people inside it for just $5:00 and wander about to your heart’s content at Niagara for no further charge, here, to even stop your car to admire the falls costs you a whopping $12:00.

Having been threatened with arrest by a civilian in charge (you can see, with all the “no parking” signs on the public highway all around the best views of the place just how much the Canadian authorities are co-operating in this farce, and this official’s comment merely confirms it) after I told him to **** off when he wanted me to remove my car from the public highway back in 2010. another one of my missions in Canada is to find all of the best specs for you to see the Falls for nothing

Many people don’t realise this but General de Gaulle’s imfamous “Vive Québec Libre” speech was not a political statement. He was simply expressing his disgust at having been stuck for a whopping great sum of money when he went to visit the Falls of Montmorency.

Nevertheless, the way that things are panning out right now, I’m not going to have my annual pilgrimage to the Charlevoix, which many of you know as my spiritual home and the most beautiful place on earth. Nevertheless, from a bluff overlooking the river and by judicious use of the 300mm telephoto lens (excuse the blurring – there was so much wind that it blew down the tripod) I could see the twin towers of the town of Baie St Paul, about 15 miles or more away across the river.

Yes, I shall have to have my pleasure of the Charlevoix and the north bank of the St Lawrence vicariously this year, which is a shame. As for you, if you start at this page
and follow on from there, you can read all about the Charlevoix as far as I’ve progressed with my notes from last year

Anyway, I’m now esconsed in na habitual spot for me – in the marshes along the Riviere des Vases St Lawrence just east of Rivière du Loup. You’ve all seen this place before so I won’t bore you with it again but it’s the place where they gathered eel grass for use as stuffing in car seats back in the early days of motoring, and you can still see the ruins of the old quayside where the loaded barges left for their journey to Detroit

-3

Tuesday 3rd September 2013 – IT MANAGED NOT TO RAIN TOO MUCH TODAY.

And that is always a blessing. After a restless night with high winds, trucks again starting up at 04:00 in the morning and diesel horns from locomotives at the level crossing about 2 miles away (you have no idea how far sound can travel in open countryside in the dead of night) I was back on the road (or, at least, the Chemin du Roy) again.

This is the kind of thing that I’m looking for – you can see in front of this house near Portneuf the low wall and flattened surface (the Chemin du Roy was a plank road made of cedar). The bits of gravel close to the camera and farther away behind give the game away a little and it’s nothing like as easy as this to find them normally.

Still, it all keeps me out of mischief, I suppose and it’s quite interesting as I keep on encountering all kinds of unexpected things while I’m on my travels.

Another thing I’ve been looking for is the site of Fort Jacques Cartier. It’s the last place in Nouvelle France that held out against the English.

Strangely enough though, there’s no mention of it anywhere and although I had the co-ordinates (which you can’t reach) there’s not a sign or anything, quite surprising when you consider just how militant Québec is. In fact if I hadn’t seen this bridge and its name, I would have been convinced that I had the co-ordinates totally wrong.

Into the city of Québec and past my beloved Tracel de Cap rouge which I’ve told you about before, and then into the city centre to take some photos that I missed when I was here last time – which you can see on the index page for the Tracel photos.

The Quebec Railway Station was high on my list of places to visit. The outside is magnificent, one of thse typical Nouvelle France fairytale buildings, but the interior is superb as you can see. It’s kept all of its splendour which makes a change, seeing as how normally allof this kind of stuff is swept away in a wave of vandalism as we saw in other places in the swinging 60s.

Strawberry Moose made a few friends in Québec too, but that quickly turned sour when someone called him a toutou. Definitely a moment, that was.

Tomorrow I’m leaving the St Lawrence because I have other fish to fry, and so I’ll head for the hills and an early night. See you all soon.

-7

Monday 2nd September 2013 – AT FIRST, I WROTE …

… “Monday 2nd December” for the title of today’s posting. Not an error, as you might think, but a Freudian slip because it is winter here today. Black skies, lashing down of rain, hurricane force winds (trees uprooted and all that kind of thing in Montreal) – so much so that it wasn’t until 16:30 or thereabouts that I took to the road, all heaters in the Dodge blazing away.

It wasn’t like that at first though. Dawn came early to my little spec on the bluff above the Riviere Ste Anne and it looked as if it might be a lovely day – and I know that the dawn came early because I sa it, having somehow managed to park in the middle of a moquito nest and having been bitten to pieces during the night. I didn’t even cook a meal for fear of disturbing them.

Anyway, as the morning drew on, the day clouded over and as I was fuelling uo the Dodge, the heavens opened and that was that. I found a convenient motorway service area and parked up. With a coffee and an internet connection, I attacked a pile of paperwork and read a book.

By about 16:30 the weather improved a little in the sense that it stopped raining and we just had occasional showers. I hit the road and went off to the village of Deschambault.

This was an important stage on the Chemin du Roy and although the village has altered considerably over the last 275 years, it is said that much of the traces of the original 1734 road are still said to be there if you know where to look.

Judging by the alignment of the church and the presbytery, and the site of the old fort that Champlain had built against the Iroquois (you can see part of the wall as the boundary wall of the cemetery) I reckon that this might be a good-enough bet.

It continues along the headland from here to the new road, but about 400 metres behind me is a sudden stop. Coastal erosion, particularly along the clay cliffs, was always a serious problem and one of the main reasons for some serious alignment of the road.

Another place on the route is a town called Portneuf, about 10kms further along. Someone shored up a river bank and this led to dramatic changes in the action of the river and created a fine port for the goélettes, the little ships that plied up and down the St Lawrence, of which you can see long-since abandoned here. Gradually, the port was expanded until there is now a quay that stretches more than one kilometre into the St Lawrence, and even the biggest ships can tie up here, although not that they ever do these days.

The quay is actually situated right at the apex of one of the sharpest meanders in the whole of the river and there are some delightful optical illusions with a long-range telephoto lens as you capture photos of ships such as the Canadian Shipping Line’s Atlantic Erie fighting the current and the meander and having to make a hard-over turn to port to round the headland without colliding with the quay.

And look at the waves – you can see what I mean about the howling wind and the storm that we were having.

Dusk came pretty quickly after this, which was no surprise, and so finding myself back on Highway 40 I retraced my steps to the Motorway Service Area to batten down the hatches for tonight. I’m not going to be doing anything else.

-2

Sunday 1st September 2013 – NOW ISN’T THIS A LOVELY …

… place to stop and eat your morning bagel? This is a place called Pointe au Lac just outside Trois Rivieres and the lac concerned, Lac St PIerre, isn’t actually a lake at all but a widening of the St Lawrence.

Just up the road a little is one of the earliest water mills in the whole of Canada, dating to the early 17th Century, and I’m going for a visit there in due course, but let me eat my bagel first and while I do, I’ll tell you abaout my parking space last night.

I didn’t see the sign that said two hours parking only and any longer than that involves all kinds of diabolical punishments, none of which happened, and I didn’t see the sign that said “long stay parking around the back of the service station” either which was a shame, because it would have been much quieter than were I was sleeping. However the noise didn’t disturb me for most of my stay – I must have been tired.

So now I’ve eaten my bagel we can go to the moulin. It’s actually two mills in one, with two water wheels. One wheel powers the corn-grinding apparatus and the other, a later addition, powers a sawmill and in the sun it all looks beautiful.

But Pointe-au-Lac is a surprising community. Not only is there the mill but an addiction centre for drugs, alcohol and gambling, a friary with a high school that burnt down (like everything else in Quebec – there is a great deal or arson about in the province) in 1994 and a church in the graveyard of which there is someone resting ready for the resurraction (he’ll have a long wait) and someone else who claimed to be the son of Noah, presumably by his second wife, Joan of Arc.

I had a leisurely drive along the St Lawrence as far as St Anne de la Perade and then turned inland as I had a little mission to undertake.

. We had a few moments of light hilarity when a local estate agent in my neck of the woods in France advertised a property for sale in St Christine d’Auvergne, thinking that it was the one along the banks of the Sioule. However, despite its name, it is actually in Quebec and so here’s a photo of it just to prove that it does exist.

From there I went to visit a local hydro-electric plant and it was such an extraordinary spot that I decided that I would spend the night there.

And you’ll all have to wait until tomorrow to see the photo.

-3

Saturday 31st August 2013 – I’M NOT SURE WHAT HAPPENED …

… last night but I closed my eyes for a couple of seconds at about 18:30 and that was the last thing that I remember until about 07:00 the following morning.

Well, not quite. I had another exciting dream again, which shows you just how comfortable I am inside this Dodge at night. I had exchanged Caliburn for Terry’e van and another car (as if I am ever likely to exchange Caliburn for anything, but never mind). On my way back to work after Friday lunchtime, I parked the van in a narrow alley near to work, a place with high brick walls all around. I decided that I didn’t want to stay here because I’d be stuck in the traffic for leaving, but I couldn’t move the van from its position. Driving out is not the szme angle as reversing in, of course.

Anyway, a nearby truck starting up his motor shattered my reverie otherwise I would still be there now, so calm and peaceful was my little neck of the woods at this transport café that is, would you believe, actually on the central reservation of the motorway.

And after a visit to the cleanest beichstuhl that I have ever seen in a transport café and breakfast of coffee and bagels with strawberry jam and maple syrup I sat down and brought up to date all of my notes and photos in a marathon session

Once I’d organised that, I spent half an hour reading a book – making the most of a quiet morning, and then set off in search of the vestiges of the Chemin du Roy. There are loads of remains of this road, which has been constantly rebuilt over the 300 years of its existence, due to floods, erosion, avalanches, earthquakes, attacks by Iroquois, bridge collapses, fires and the like, some of these vestiges being signposted and some not so and open to speculation.

I’m quite enjoying spotting suggestive-looking earthworks and depressions, and trying to link them up into a consistent route and one day I’m sure that I’ll have the route traced out as much as is possible.
Lunch stop was at Trois Rivières, one of my favourite cities in Canada although far from the nicest of course. I was here at the same time as the Labour Day weekend celebrations and there was a lot going on, circuses, street performers, a local market, and the whole place was heaving with people and was quite exciting.

Not as exciting though as looking at the local police on their new modes of transport. These are called T3 Mobiles, electric powered, with disc brakes and can travel at seppds of up to 30kph – and much better than a pushbike as I was reliably informed because, as you might have guessed, I went up to the coppers and asked them about them. No point in being here and not satisfying your curiosity.

I had a wander around the town in the afternoon and visited a few more bits that I had missed. I’ll have to pad out my Trois Rivieres pages even more now, and that will keep me out of mischief for a while.

As it grew dark I headed for the highway to a transport café that I had seen and I shall dig myself in here for the night. Hopefully not for the morning though – I’ve lots to do.

-6

Friday 30th August 2013 – I’VE HIT THE ROAD, JACQUES

Up early again though and brought all my photos up to date (I wish I could say the same about the notes, though) and having made a couple of trips to the car, it’s now loaded up and Strawberry Moose and I are now comfortably installed inside.

Once we finally managed to leave the car park (which wasn’t easy) we headed off across the city and rhe traffic to go to look at the rapids of Lachine. This GPS that I bought all those years ago is really doing the stuff and I am impressed with that as I am with my galvanised steel dustbin

First stop was however to find some food for lunch for the next few days and so I headed for a convenient supermarket. But never mind the food for a moment, take a look at this car.

It’s a Dodge Saturn, and let me ask you, when did you last see a car as rotten as this on a British road? I have to think long and hard and maybe 30 years ago you might have seen one like this. I don’t even remember any of my tawis being this bad.

The area that we are in, by the way, is clearly an impoverished area of the city judging by just about everything. it’s called Verdun, and the name seems to have been inspired by a group of soldiers returning to Canada after World War I and having witnessed the French city of Verdun after a FRanco-German artillery duel there.

The rapids at Lachine, for all their hype, aren’t all that much to write home about and in a sense are disappointing. But they were certainly much more disappointing to Jacques Cartier who was hoping to find the promised North-West Passage to “La Chine” and the Indies through the St Lawrence and instead came to a shuddering halt at the rapids.

Still it was a nice morning and the walk through the park was very pleasant in the sun so that was something.

After lunch I drove back through the city and along the road that passes by the docks and out to Repentigny where I rejoined my previous quest for the search for the remains of the Chemin du Roy – the old highway of the 17th Century that was built to connect Montreal and Quebec. I managed to do a little work but was interruped by a thunderstorm and driving rain. With that I scuttled to shelter, a motorway service area on the Highway at the back of Lavaltrie, and I’ll be staying here for the night. No point in moving on in this weather.

-2

Thursday 29th August 2013 – I PICKED UP MY CAR THIS EVENING …

… and they knew that it was me coming, as it has almost 17,OOOkms on the clock and quite a few scratches (some of which they hadn’t noticed). But I’m not complaining as it’s a top-of-the-range model with built-in 110 volt inverter and also a reversing camera, so I can see who I’m knocking down when I’m going backwards.

This morning though I went into the city centre to the railway station to see the trains but that didn’t work. It’s underground, the station, and they don’t let you down until your train is called, rather like an airport. But no worries – there weren’t many trains to see. The local rail network is a little, well, truncated. In fact there’s a line that passes about 1km from the airport and it would be the easiest thing to run a spur to it, there’s no obstructions in the way, but instead there’s just a shuttle bus running to the city centre at the mercy of the weather and the traffic, of which there is more than enough.

I went for a wander around the city centre afterwards, looking at the statues (and there’s more than enough of them too) and the skyscrapers (ditto) but as far as I can see, although the city centre has some pretty beautiful spots and corners, it has some pretty desolate windswept alleys too. Overall, it’s no different than any modern city enywhere else in the world and the part of Montreal that is preserved is really just a showcase for the tourists and everywhere else it’s pushed aside in the ruthless quest of mammon.

After lunch it was back to the hotel, back to thr airport, pick up the car and then off across the city to my storage unit to pick up my stuff. Now the car is all kitted up and ready to go and I’ll be off on my voyages.

But at the station I had the most excellent luck. A discount electronic place that had a sale on – and they had the next dictaphone higher up in the range to my old one – exactly the same and with a “pause” but with a data connection too. And that works fine and with GOM player and its facility to step back 5 seconds at a time, this is the works. It’s compatible too with “Dragon”, the speech recognition software that the OU used, so all I need to do is to find a student who might have a copy of “Dragon” for sale.

-2

Wednesday 28th August 2013 – AND THERE I AM

Totally whacked as usual because I’ve been on my feet for over 12 hours – and I mean “on my feet” too because I’ve walked all over Montreal today.

But the day started as it meant to go on – I had to leave the hotel three tiumes before I got anywhere – firstly I forgot my book and secondly I forgot the memory card for the computer. I missed the bus too but the driver of the bus 100 showed me where another metro station ” De La Savane” is, and so now that gives me more options. But the world is getting frightfully small. He’s from Morocco and spent 27 years living in, of all places, Brussels where he drove for the STIB on the 71 route – the one that we take for Marianne’s. And he gave me all kinds of tips about applying for a job on the Montreal public transport.

First stop was right across town (I’m glad I got this 3-day public transport ticket) to the arrêt “Viau” for the Olympic Stadium (it’s bizarre that the metro stations are named after nearby streets and not at all by the local attractions).

A magnificent pile (but that’s enough about me) but it’s blighted with rust and is slowly creeping into a bit of decay which is a shame. It was controversial enough when it was built and its end might be controversial if they don’t get a move on. But I’ve seen loads of concreting in Montreal that is crumbling away quite rapidly. Must be the minerals in the water.

From here in the scorching sweltering heat (and occasional thunderstorms at midday) I went down to the water. Absolutely beautiful, especially on a day like this. I had to keep stopping every half hour or so to stick my cap under some cold water to cool me down.

Loads of ships to see down here in the docks of course, but you can’t put all of your photos on the blog, can you, Eric? You’ll all have to wait for the definitive web pages. But I can tell you this – looking at the river front down by the old town and old port you cans ee just how much money there was here. The edifices are magnificent.

IN the evening I went out to the south shore of the St Lawrence just to say that I was there and on the way back stopped off at the metro station on the island where the Formula One racetrack is. As it got dark the lights of the city came onon eby one until we had a magnificent spectacle such as this.

From here off to the Cote des Neiges where I treated myself to a falafel abd chips and then back on two metros and a bus. And I stepped off at the wrong bus stop which meant that I had a 30-minute walk back to the hotel.

So much for my early night;

And did I tell you about my dream? I and someone else were reading a car magazine and the readers’ letters. One was about a type of Belgian microcar that was sold in India and used to bring home the shopping. Another letter was about a struggling Yahoo launching a caravan in the USA. Someone wrote to say that this was not as extraordinary as the editor suggested because no European caravan manufacturer ever sold in North America (and I know, by the way, for a fact that this isn’t true having seen several Sprites over here) and so they have never registered any designs, so all that Yahoo has done is to simply pinch a European design and market it

THen we went out into the large park, with long grass and the like and it was teeming with people. A deer appeared and everyone was saying “look, a deer” you could clearly hear all of their voices and it mingled with another herd of deer that was being stalked by a wild boar and a lion (it was really a tiger). Then the wild boar attacked … the lion, knocked it down and in front of the crowds took a huge bite out of its flank. Everyone gasped, I turned my face away, but the lion picked itself up and staggered off.

Yes, I’ve settled in all right, haven’t I?

-5

Tuesday 27th August 2013 – WELL, HERE WE ARE

And here is the rusty steed that brought me here. It’s not, as you might think, an Airbus A330 despite its looks – it is in fact a BE2c that was shot down by the Baron von Richthofen in 1917 on the Western Front and hastily reassembled by Air Transat the day before the flight.

Called The White Bird, it was piloted by those well-known Transatlantic flyers Nungesser and Coli and before I could sit down, I had to move Charles LIndbergh’s sandwiches off my seat.

Strangely, it was the most stress-free flight I’ve ever been on and I’ve no idea why – usually I’m terribly wound up on a flight.

But only a company such as Air Transat would install a full-length mirror in the beichstuhl so that you could watch yourself riding the porcelain horse. I’ve no idea what musthave gone through their minds when they requested this as a specification. Something to do with the “Mile-High Club”? I did notice that the door was very discreetly placed.

At the airport, again, a very unstressfull passage into the country and then outside where, surprise surprise, my shuttle bus was waiting (it’s a good idea to send them an e-mail) and down to the hotel – the Quality Hotel (although they didn’t say what kind of quality) – where I’m now safely installed.

This isn’t a hotel shuttle bus – it’s a Montreal service bus, the 202 to be precise, and here it is outside the Ducollege Underground Station. There’s a bus stop right outside the hotel and that was where I leapt aboard it to take me to the Underground.

Seeing how I’ve not booked a car for a few days, I’m on the buses (and the Underground) for a while. There’s loads of Montreal that I haven’t seen so I’m going to be doing some sightseeing, and by far the best way to get around is on the public transport, especially as a three-day ticket only costs about $18:00 and you can go everywhere with that.

I took the Underground to the Cote des Neiges station because one of the places that I had always wanted to visit was the huge Oratory of Saint Joseph on the side of Mount Royal. I’ve driven past it on dozens of occasions but never been in and it looks so impressive from a distance.

But not so from close up as it’s built of concrete blocks and even my bricklaying is better than whoever built this. It’s a site of pilgrimage and a true pilgrim will climb up all of the steps on his knees in order to seek forgiveness for his sins – and so why they have shuttle buses, escalators and lifts, given the current state of the Catholic Church, is totzlly beyond me. They’ve totally missed the point.

There was a supermarket around the corner so now that I’m stocked up with bagels, maple syrup and strawberry jam, I can have a good breakfast.

But whoever heard of a Canadian bar laitière, or Ice Cream parlour, running out of maple syrup-flavoured frozen vegan ice cream? Unbelievable!

-1

Monday 26th August 2013 – WELL, I MADE IT TO THE AIRPORT

But it wasn’t half touch and go, I’ll tell you.

I didn’t manage to get anything in the way of sleep last night either, because I couldn’t find the keys to my storage box and my safety deposit box in Canada.

Desperate times call for desperate measures and so I put a couple of batteries for the Ryobi angle grinder on charge. It’s as well to be prepared, and that will sort out the men from the boys of course. After that, desperate measures were called for and I started going through all of the waste bins.

I’m glad I did because I found my missing personal telephone directory NOYE TO SELF – have a word with Cécile about her method of tidying up. I found lots of other disagreeable objects but no keys and at 08:52 I called it a day and started to pack everything away.

However, I had a thought. I definitely remember putting the keys in a zipped pocket and they ought to be in the zipped pocket of my “Canada Electrical” bag. But I didn’t remember opening the suitcase after I locked up the storage unit. I’d tipped out my sac banane where there are about four zipped pockets, and the keys weren’t there either of course, but there was a zipped pocket on the computer and camera hold-all.

And sure enough, with just a couple of minutes to go, I emptied that out, and there they were! Phew! That was a close shave!

So at Radio Tartasse I recorded two months of rock programmes, then Liz and I did 6 weeks of “Radio Anglais”. I stopped off at the Pionsat Intermarché to buy a pile of bread and salad and I’ve made a mountain of butties – I know all about the closed restaurant round the corner from my hotel and I have my suspicions about Air Transat and their choice of vegan food. It’s as well to be prepared.

After taking Julie and Clare’s furniture out of Caliburn, I garaged him right round the back of Liz and Terry’s where he can stay quiet for 6 weeks or so out of the way and be good.

Liz kindly prepared lunch, a salad and bread, and I shaved my head with the hair trimmer. There are First Nation Canadians, or Amerindiens, around by where I’m going and I’ve heard all kinds of stories about the Malicete. I’m not leaving them anything to pull off. Anyway, after all of that, we went down to Gerzat in Liz’s car to record 5 weeks of “Radio Anglais” for Radio Arverne.

That was for once quite straightforward and then Liz dropped me off at the station in plenty of time for my train.

I’ve no idea what make or model it is – I shall have to refer to my Jane’s Train Recognition Guide for that, but I can tell you that it wasn’t as rattly or as bangy as the one last time I came here. And as nothing at all exciting happened during the voyage, we arrived in Lyon, and Lyon is much more civilised than trying to go via Paris. I had time to eat some butties and drink a coffee.

In the TGV though we were like sardines. I was lucky in that I boarded early and so I managed to grab a place on the difficult rail halfway down the carriage. Anyone who came after me was struggling for luggage space. It really is ridiculous – why don’t they have a luggage van and a baggagiste on each of the trains? That would make everything so much simpler.

And a good 25 minutes late, due to a tardy connection, we hurtled off into the night with kids screaming and all kinds of things. And not even a place to swing a cat. I hate to think what this would be like on a Saturday evening.

That 25 minutes ended up as being a whopping great 44 minutes by the time that we arrived at the station at Terminal 2, and although that might seem like bad news, it is in fact the first bit of good news that I have had for about a week because it entitles me to a refund of 25% on my ticket – something that I shall be following up with vigour.

Up in a crowded lift from the first floor to the fifth floor and into a heaving mass of people waiting for the hotel buses. Last year I stepped out of the station and onto the bus – this year I think that everyone else’s bus must have done 5 or 6 trips before mine came. But at least that had dispersed the masses and we were a mere 12 on the bus.

Having now had a shower (and we aren’t talking about the OUSA Exeecutive Committee here), configured the new laptop for the internet and downloaded a pile of files as well as a FTP program, I can post this load of rubbish and go to bed.

-12

Sunday 25th August 2013 – I’M HAVING DISASTERS …

… and I’ve not even set out yet. I’ve forgotten to bring home my jacket – it’s hanging up on a hook back at Marianne’s. Luckily I took my passport with me to sign for this apartment so it was still in my back pack, however my dictaphone has been well and truly left behind in the jacket and, as you know, I’m sunk without that.

Not only that, I have two new bank cards to take with me and I can’t find either of those. They are probably in the jacket pocket along with the dictaphone. Also, my credit card expires on 30th September while I’m away and the new one hasn’t arrived yet.

Anyway, you can see what kind of journey this is going to turn out to be.

Being a Sunday I had a lie-in and an interesting dream. I started off in Poland in the square of some big city. The place was being invaded, whether by the Russians or the Germans I didn’t know, but we had a 53-seat coach of the type that I used to drive for Shearings and I was vetting refugees to see if they were potentially British and if so, to pass them down to the door where someone would check them over properly and let them aboard. And for reasons that I do not understand, as happens in dreams, the scene decanted itself to Ostend where we continued.

From there I was in a house dealing with Marianne’s vehicles (of course, she hadn’t really owned one for a number of years). She had an Escort van, an old dirty red van something like an LDV 200, and a couple of saloon cars, nothing worth very much but I had to dispose of them nevertheless and it wasn’t easy.

So wide awake by now, I played “hunt the bank cards” unsuccessfully, likewise “hunt the charger for the movie camera that I have inherited” (which I also think is in Brussels – GRRRR) and then had a major packing session. I can’t find tons of stuff that I need but right now I’m past caring. I’ll leave here tomorrow at 09:15 and I shan’t be back til October 15th. I’ll go with what I’ve got and manage without the rest.

At least I do have a dictaphone though. Round at Liz’s for tea and rehearsing our radio programmes she had a rummage in her drawers ad foud a digital dictaphone that has the air of doing whatever I need it to do, for which I am extremely grateful.

So see you tomorrow from Paris (I hope).

-11

EPIC HALL

The Poisoned Pen (or Poisoned Chalice, more like) – or my relentless struggle against reality