We’re playing this by ear, like a Marley Jammin session, taking it all as it comes, allowing the high notes and lows to jazz our journey along, reggae style.
With only a few of the fifty-six nights and days on the road behind us before we touch down again en Angleterre, we already have a sense of the band mentality. However, we are keen to ensure our trip is not just about the destinations, but the planned and spontaneous stops. We’re on our way to Cambrai for a three night gig; an enabling waterhole to help us feel part of the whole, rather than unwitting bystanders being pulled along in our own slipstream.
Although running late (as usual), we make a short detour to visit the British War Memorial at Thiepval. It’s massive, really massive. The biggest in the land. Not beautiful in any sense of the word, not even pretty. Not like the Canadian construction at Vimy. It’s huge and it’s hugely impressive. It’s hugely depressing too. As you try to take in the thousands upon thousands of “the lost”, names meticulously fashioned onto every face of every square column, your brain starts to numb and your heart swell.
We move on in deep thought, through France’s huge countryside. At this time of year the landscapes are decked with every imaginable rectangular shade of green; interspersed with yellows and browns. Invisibly constructed into abstract geometric Auguste Herbin-like images and we delight in them and they help to lift our spirits.
It’s become apparent that we are carrying an unknown guest. Despite my best efforts he gets very irate when cornering or going over anything other then a smooth as glass surface. Everything has to be kept out of his sight, locked up. We try to remain vigilant. Keep Beastie’s interior in ship shape order or all hell breaks loose.
Like a child going through the terrible twos, stamping from one foot to the other his temper tantrum causes us to pull over umpteen times. Packets, bottles, toilet rolls, washing up bowl and the rest go flying around the floor behind. When we’re eventually certain everything is under “lock and key” and back on our way, he proceeds to sulk by rattling the pots and pans incessantly.
To cap it all, our other, but much more welcome guest aka Pat Nav, is having a bad hair day and getting as confused as we are. After a little double backing, she miraculously gets us to Cambrai and smugly announces “you have reached your destination”.
Ahem, pardon me for asking Pat, but do you really think we’re going to spend three nights parked up on an industrial unit next to this sheet metal works? A few blushes later and we’ve checked in.