Tim Sinclair is an old colleague from local newspaper days in the North East of England. I have not seen him in half a century and would imagine the same applies to Bill Taylor. Salut!'s series of Covid-19 diaries brings us together, albeit electronically, once more ...
Should I stay or should I go...... sorry to those who remember the song and it's now going around in your head.
I live in a campervan, my home rented out. I was in Spain when war broke out in earnest against the invisible enemy. I might as well have been high on caffeine as the go/stay debate went round in my head, eluding sleep in the night hours.
But then the UK Foreign Office advice: get the hell out of there, come home. Despite our host's "stay as long as" welcome, local garda could take very different view - public space closure being the order of the day.
Then the travel back through France with filled-in downloadable permit for reasons to be on the road. And where to stop overnight - campsites and motorhome stops all closed. Just as they now are in the UK.
There was relief after I made a decision. Make a run for it through lockdown France to be nearer loved ones back "home" and back on familiar (Marmite available) turf. Except not so familiar going by reports and photos I had been getting. Leaving my cost-free, isolated haven where panic-buying seemed unheard of, did seem to be like out of the frying pan into the fire.
The Spanish roads almost deserted, until I hit the autovia where there were trucks aplenty - but thankfully most in the slow lane. The numbers increased even more once over the border into France.
Tried to turn off to an identified motorhome stop-over to be told by a "stop-here" arm-waving gendarme.
Only way back to Angleterre is on the national roads, he said, directing me back through the toll booth. I took refuge on a motorway parking area that, typically French, was splendid in rural setting among trees and picnic tables.
I was joined by other motorhomers (not British though) fleeing northwards.
Next day, I was not stopped deviating to a Carrefour hypermarket where the shelves were packed full, fresh fruit veg and meat fish counters brimming. The seemingly business-as-usual (albeit with many masked faces) sell-everything market was in a shopping centre/complex where all other shutters were closed.
French certainly seemed to be beating the Brits on this score. Maybe the continuous line of truck on autoroute A9 accounted for the steady supply of goods, or maybe it's different consumer mentality.
After A9, the dramatic mountain-winding A7 took me past Clermont Ferrand but afterwards two boring days driving onwards to the Euro-tunnel. No more "halt here" and demand for papers occurred.
However, the sat nav stressed me out skirting Paris but the delay made up by the speediest ever access onto Le Shuttle. Despite not turning up on my booked date, in 20 minutes of touch-screen check-in I was boarding.
Back in UK, a brother-in-law is generously allowing me to pitch and self-isolate in his garden under wonderfully quiet skies. I'm actually sleeping through the nights again, settled and secure - as much as one can be in these unsettled, insecure times.
Tim Sinclair, aged 70+, managed to wangle way into journalism with only some O-levels. Once indenture over, immediately quit the reporting to mess with other people's writing - was a sub-editor for rest of working life. Most years in Darlington, but spells in Bradford and Papua New Guinea. Page design my love. Widowed early nineties, retired early some years later and took off for life on the road, satisfying his nomad nature. Many motorhomes and two canal boats living ever since. Music taste: rock, folk and even some c&w.Favourite at this time: https://youtu.be/3y51WWrYodI (Tim says: please listen)
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