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Balls To The Baltic - Latvia or Bust



Three days later, back at the ranch …

Three days later I was in Salisbury at Jonathanís house, having a beer and throwing things at his kids while we packed the van. I spent the night on his sofa in living dread that we had planned to get up at 5:30 am. I don't generally do mornings unless it's 'from the other side', and frankly the idea of that time in the morning scares me. Itís a time when the living dead roam the earth. Although to be fair to zombies everywhere, most of us arenít so bad after a few of cups of coffee.

I woke up bright and breezy which was odd to say the least. I think the fact that we were going on 'an adventure' had done something to my brain. I tried to ignore the fact and got on with the complicated process of organising limbs and getting up. We did what we had to do. Jonathan found more things to do. Jonathan found even more things to do. And then some more for good measure. I waited around wishing Iíd stayed in bed.

At ten to seven, having just cleaned the ice off 'The Jestermobile' (which to the untrained eye looks just like a Ford Transit with "Jonathan the Jester" written down the side in bright coloured big letters), under a clear sky and a crescent moon, the Jestermobile was pushed into gear and we started on our way to Dover.

We stopped briefly at the services on the M3 to switch drivers because I wanted to have a go at driving the van before we hit the continent. I can cope with learning new vehicle controls, and I can cope with driving on the other side of the road, but I didn't want to have to work out both at once. You can't fool me by telling me the French drive on the right side of the road. It's the wrong side, and we all know it. I think even the French are aware of this and they just refuse to admit it because it bugs the English, and well, theyíre French.

I should point out I donít have anything against the French as such, other than around a thousand years of history. I think itís acceptable to view them as siblings, in that itís ok for the English to beat them up, but no one else is allowed to touch them.†



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