Miles today: 409
Total miles: 1215
Location: Copenhagen
Hits on this website so far: 1,669

I have not drank any alcohol today.
I have not snogged any strange men.
I remember every teensy winsy bit of today, nothing was “a blur”.

Will that do Mum?!

Miles today:178
Total miles: 794
Location: Hamburg city centre
Cost of accommodation: 26€
Rations left: 2 Sherbet dibdabs, 2 packets of polos, 3 squares of Dairy Milk, 1 giant drumstick lolly.
Number of Ikeas spotted: Still none
Number of Wigan goals scored while I was in the loo AGAIN: 1
Number of times people have actually assumed I’m a participant in the Eurovision Song Contest: 3

Really nice day again. Woke up to the aged Munster witch and her long white whispy hair, but wearing a set of pink floral pyjamas. We didn’t speak. Honestly, she must be as old as God’s dog. Got all packed up and I sat on the banks of the lake eating my breakfast, which was a pot* of strawberries and quark. Now I’ve only heard of quark because I accidentally made it on Alchemy Android game, and it sounds a bit rank just by the name and so wouldn’t have actually bought it, but I forgot to read the label. But it’s amazing – like a unsweetened unchemicalized version of fromage frais. Anyway, was LOVELY. I also robbed enough stuff from the breakfast buffet to make myself a packed lunch. Had a wander round Munster which was much nicer in daytime and people were actually friendly. The fun police must only control the hostel itself.

 Drive to Hamburg was a long one – it’s a bit grim setting your satnav and seeing that the next turn you need to make is in 146 miles. But I was enjoying my own company, and I found a load of great songs on the mp3 player and blasted them out proper loud and sang away at the top of my voice all the way down the road. Not seen a UK car reg for 3 whole days now. Arrived in Hamburg and found a “Boy Scout” brand hostel.  I hadn’t booked in advance so had to just pitch up and hope they had beds left. I got the last bed in the whole place – was a mixed room, and after Bruges I was a bit scared I’d end up with some rowdy knobhead lads again. Shouldn’t have worried. There were 8 of us, but the only ones I spoke to were Steve, an American guy who’d was going to a green energy convention and then out on a pubcrawl, a very quiet guy called Marios who looked petrified at us all, Dominic from Cologne who was going for an interview as a sports coach, and…..wait for it…….Wolfgang the farmers son who had been sent from the countryside by his parents to see what life in the big city was like.

Dominic was really friendly, and chatty, and was the spitting image of my friend Annie’s husband Adam, so I just felt an affinity with him.  He got us all talking and we compared notes on our travels, home towns and reasons for being in Hamburg. He asked advice on what to wear for his interview and gave us parade of his possible choices. Was a very pleasant couple of hours just chatting and making friends with my roomies. We decided we’d go for drinks and food when he returned,and off he trolled to interview. Thought I’d go for a wander round the city by myself and as I was leaving Wolfgang decided he’d join me. Now Wolfgang has just turned twenty, he grew up on a farm and has never really left, and lived a VERY sheltered life. He looks like a young Leonardo Di Caprio, but taller and with more windswept hair. He’d also travelled from Munster, as he now needs to find a Uni to study at, so his father has sent him off the farm out to find his fortune in the big wide world. Wolfgang didn’t want to come to Hamburg because he thought it was too big a city, and he says that cities made him feel “psychotic”, and he feels very scared and misses life on the farm. (don’t worry Suzanne, he did say he was struggling to find the right word in English, and that “psychotic” wasn’t the right word). Considering he’s a proper CowTown German guy his English was very good,to be honest ha ha ha there was less of a language barrier than with WindMillMan. Mind you, I did go into some bizzare Queens English sort of accent, don’t know how or why, it just came out. Probably for the best though, I wouldn’t want him trotting back to his CowTown hometown speaking English with a Wigan/Dudley twang.

We walked along the river, and he explained a lot about the history of Hamburg and the buildings, and the culture, and trade – obviously all knowledge gained from books, but still a great tour guide. He showed me a little card that he’d been given earlier that day, by a bloke standing at the end of the red light district as Wolfgang passed by. Now Wolfgang, having lived all his life in a Little Town on the Prarie type environment was rather bemused by this card. I’m not sure he’s come across many real life women before, let alone semi naked ones. He was showing me the card, and alternating from disgust to curiosity to excitement. I think he was trying to judge my reaction as to whether it was bad of him to have this card, or VERY bad, and he’d get struck down by lightening for being such a heathern sinner in the big wide world. I explained there was similar places in Amsterdam too,and even in Blackpool they had shops on the seafront that sold rude shaped lollipops. Wolfgang’s eyes were nearly popping out on stalks. Thought we’d stop for a drink and totally unknowingly I chose to stop for a drink at a bar that was directly opposite the where the man who’d given the very same little red card earlier was now stationed. I sat happily drinking my cola while Wolfgang sat sipping his beer gazing out of the window and across the road with a warm readybrek type glow all around him. Too funny. Wolfgang kept saying how big and scary the city was, and he liked Munster better (Munster is a MUCH smaller city) and there was too much traffic and noise. From my point of view Hamburg is a big, but quiet city. The roads are wide, but not much traffic at all. Busy to me is Deansgate, or the M6 between Bryn and the M62, or Castlegate in Dudley, or the road along the river in town in Shrewsbury. It wasn’t anything like that bad. This didn’t however stop Wolfgang being scared of the traffic, and everytime we crossed he would hurtle across at full speed and then stand on the opposite pavement shouting “Faster, faster, FASTER!” at me (in the same kind of petrified voice that can only be equalled by Mrs Gloop doing her “Noooo Augustus” in Charlie and the chocolate factory) as I dawdled across quite safely in my own time. We did a bit more exploring, passed a few tramps in their “houses”, which we both really laughed about, and made our way back to the hostel. Wolfgang still had his ready brek glow from passing the end of the right light district on our walk, and said he wanted to go and sit under a tree and read a book. Yeah right. Anyway he wandered off and I went to get changed. I was hoping Dominic would be back from his job interview as he was good company, very friendly and more my own age, but he wasn’t. Marios the quiet guy was still cowering under his duvet looking scared of these strange people being social and talking to one another. I googled and found an bar showing the Wigan match and set off clutching my little map.

The Shamrock Irish bar had good reviews, but no idea how. There was virtually no electric lighting, mostly lit by candles in bottles and just looked dark and grubby. I can only assume the owners left Ireland during the potato famine and haven’t been back since.They’d be shocked to see how modern techology had moved on. Just grim. The toilet looked like something out of trainspotting. Anyway, sat down with my warm cola and say down infront of the portable telly to watch Arsenal v Wigan. There was just me in the whole pub. A few minutes before kick off a tall American guy walks in and sits down and asks the barmaid to turn up the volume. We got chatting, his name is Jon, he is 28, from Upstate New York but is living here temporarily with work. We talk about our travels and our favorite cities.The match starts and I ask who he’s supporting, as it’s unusual for an American to like “soccer”. He looks at me like I’m nuts, and unzips his jacket to reveal….a Latics away shirt. “Wigan of course. I believe!”.  I couldn’t get over it! Not even a run of the mill home shirt – an away shirt! Turns out his sister married a bloke from Wigan,  and now they all support Latics. He went to Wembley for the semi and is flying back for the Villa match. So Jon and I chatted Wigan, he stays in the Oak hotel when he flies over, really wishes he’d seen a game at the old “stadium” and how we both miss Jimmy Bullard. We’re both confident Martinez with stay for at least a season, not just for their changes in europe, but because we think he’s got the Wigan ethos of loyalty. Lovely chatting, just a bit bizarre when Jon had a proper cartoon American accent and said words like “dee-fence” and “sem-eye final”. After about 20 minutes the door burst open and an spanish girl runs in shouting “Have I missed anything, how are we doing”. Jon tells hes on a mission to turn Hamburg into Wigan fans. Back home in Washington DC there is a little cafe that now opens early on Saturday mornings and Jon had a little band of American faithful that turn up to watch Wigan matches. I explained to Jon that I missed the goal against ManCity because I was in the loo, and how that always happens. He laughs. Just before half time I can’t wait any longer and nip off to the loo. Jon laughs and says he hopes my traditional luck will work. Just as I’m about to unlock the door on my way out of Irelands tribute to Trainspotting I hear Jon, Gill and the barmaid screaming. I genuinely don’t know how I do it. I’ve not seen a England goal in years, Man U always scored when I went for a pie and now Wigan are in on it too. As much as I know it has it’s uses it would be nice to see the goals live, rather from a replay! I went again twice in the second half but no such luck. Quote off Gill was “I hate you Jon, 3 months ago I didn’t even know who Wigan were and now I’m crying at their results, AND I’ve had to learn the offside rule.”. Brilliant! By the end of the match we had the barmaid and 2 other regulars serioysly cheering for Wigan. Dispointing score obviously, and Jon was absolutely gutted. We agree that if we ever see each other out on King Street we will have a beer together. Both of us are still proud of what “Little Wigan” have achieved. Just gutted too.

Wobbled back to the hostel a little worse for wear. Stopped on the way to order food because I’d not eaten since the robbed lunch of breakfast cobs from Munster, and must have found the only place in such a big city that couldn’t speak any English. Everything was foreign, apart from the word pizza, and “kip” and “poulo” didn’t even get me anywhere so I had to draw pictures of what toppings I wanted. Only 5€ for a huge pizza though so not bad. Wobbled about 2 streets before I opened the box under a streetlamp to find….. a brocolli pizza. Yes. I know. Brocolli. on. a pizza. No idea how my drunken artistic scribbles of Chicken and peppers looked like brocolli. Difficult trying to pick toppings off a giant pizza with nothing to rest it on. I lost one slice into a hedge and another into some roadworks when I was trying to rest if a traffic cone. Made it back to the hostel fine (Jon had reassured me that Hamburg was a very safe city else It’s have probably got a taxi back) to find silence and all the rooms lights out. Though I would be decent to not wake them up so I had thoughtfully planned in advance and taken my jimjams out in my handbag with me and  left my bed ready with everything packed away neatly.  Got changed on the landing and sneaked back in silently so as not to wake them. Which worked great til I walked headfirst into a wardrobe door Wolfgang had left open, and then staggered and fell headfirst over a stool. My bunch of keys went flying and my torch smashed so all round the room little bedside wall lamps got quickly flicked on by a room full of bleery eyed roomies looking at me lying full stretch in my pyjamas clutching the remains of a brocolli pizza. Everyone groaned and buried their heads back into their pillows. Apart from the ever cheerful Dominic who with a big smile on his enthusiastic little face said “Hey did you win?”.    No we effing well didn’t.

*potje in foreign 😉

Miles today: 174
Total: 615
Location: Münster, Germany
Number of typical hostel rules: Usually about 3 or 4, given verbally when booking in.
Number of rules for tonight’s hostel : 25, with full explanations, printed on 2 sheets of A4, handed over and told I must read them.
Number of views of this website so far: 1207
Number of views of this website from Jamaica: 7 (Nope, I have no idea who or why either!)

Not much to say today, its been a quiet one again. I’m in Münster, in Germany, and boy don’t I know it. It’s just gone 10pm and a big voice has come booming over the tannoy telling everyone that they must now be quiet. Well that’s what I assume the message said, it was all in foreign. This is the first place I’ve been to that hasn’t had any sort of English translation at all. I actually feel guilty like I’ve done something wrong that I dare try and speak English. Theres board games in a glass cabinet in the lobby, but its locked because no-one is allowed to have fun at this time of night. The guitar playing woman I could hear earlier softly  singing folk songs has even been shushed. And whoa betide anyone who dares come in after 11pm has hasn’t arranged it in advance by telephoning the night porter (rule number 14 of 25). The hostel is on the banks of a lake by a big park, and I’m guessing they’ve also got an agreement that the wind wont whistle through the trees too loudly at night too. Boy Scouts are probably too scared to come here. Bring my back my lovely Antwerp Ikea prison and the all you can eat bananas!

Windmill man phoned me from work on his break this morning to check I was ok and up and about. Think he also wanted to check I’d not gone back to nick his telly to be honest. I only decided yesterday where I’ď be staying tonight – I like having this flexibility but I think most people find it a bit too random. Decision was done yesterday in the pub with Google maps, and splitting the remainly journey to Copenhagen into roughly 3 equal portions and seeing what town or city was roughly nearby. So Munster it is! I did consider Amsterdam but one of my Sherbet Dips exploded in my handbag a few days ago, and so turning up in Amsterdam with a bag full of white powder didn’t seem like a sensible move. I’m also down to my last bar of DairyMilk now, so I’m going to struggle. I might have to get April to bring extra rations out with her on Thursday. I’ve got a giant drumstick lolly mind you, that’ll keep my occupied for at least half a day. Not sorted anywhere for tomorrow yet, so I’ll have to get onto that first thing actually.

Had a wander round the town tonight. It’s crawling (well not literally) with joggers and cyclists. Never seen so many in one city. There’s a really beautiful cathedral here too, but I’ve gad my fill of cathedrals and historic buildings this week. Have found a few shops I’d like to go back to in the morning. Had a butty, my mezzo mix and came home. Probably take my breakfast and eat it sitting by the lake in the morning. That’s if the Germans will allow it. I’ll have to check the list for rules about eating food in nice surroundings.

Hang on, I did say this was a boring uneventful day, but that could well change on what has JUST happened. This is a 4 bedded room, but up till now there we just me here. Its now quarter to 11 and the door has JUST opened and a woman who is 60 if she’s a day has just walked in. She’s dressed all in black and she’s got white hair past her shoulders. I got surcharged 7€ extra here because of my age not technically being in the “youth” catagory, so heaven knows how much extra they’ve charged her. Rule 15 is no animals allowed so I’m guessing she’s left her black cat and toad outside. Never mind being chopped into pieces, I might just get magicked into a turnip or something.

She’s chunnering away to me in German, seemingly oblivious to the fact I’ve not replied apart from “No spracken zee doitch”. That’s me done. I’m off to bury my head under the pillow and hope I’m still here in the morning. I can honestly say my shoes are so stinky and rank I’ve actually been tying them up in a carrier bag overnight. Well not tonight. I’m leaving them at the end of my bed to ward off evil spells.

Night all
xx

Miles today: 6
Total miles: 441
Location: Still in Antwerp, Belgium
Number of C&A’s I’ve seen now: 3
(who was it who told me they thought C&A stood for Coats and ‘ats?)
Number of Ikeas I have seen : 0 (surprised actually)
Number of Scottish Windmill makers I have met now: 7
Number of times I have asked Windy Miller to say “All the squirrels in the world eat curly wurlies”: About 12. ish.

Very lazy day today, but it was just what I needed. Caught up with some sleep at the hostel but still felt rough. Probably drank more on Saturday then I did in the whole if last year. Weather was cold but at least it wasn’t raining.

Met up with Windy Miller and his scottish windmill making friends for brunch in Antwerp city cente. They’re a really good bunch of lads – bit like Auf Weidersein Pet, they work over 2 sites in Begium and Holland and then go back to Scotland every so often for a week off. Can’t quite fathom why Dutch people can’t make their own windmills, next thing they’ll be outsourcing clog making.

After lunch we headed back to the Irish bar from the day before, and spent the afternoon watching all the football matches one after another on the big screen. The bar staff clearly remembered me as the over-emotional jumping Wigan girl who cried at the final whistle and then paid for her own champagne that someone else sent over to her table. Very emotional final whistle again with the tribute to Alex Ferguson, and when you could tell he was welling up himself doing his speech all the windmill makers started looking nervous incase they had a crying girl on their hands again. Truely is the end of an era. I don’t think British football will ever see anyone in charge of one team for anything like that long. The barman clearly hated ManU though, so at the end when the switched the tv noise off he made an exception to the traditional fiddledy dee music and put “You’ll never walk alone” on the jukebox. Perfect timing though, very well judged and everyone in the pub laughed. And ha ha ha the was one point when I came out of the toilets downstairs and walked smack bang into a chubby girl in a black cardi trying to get to the stairs. I moved one way, so did she, didn’t fancy any agro off anyone foreign I couldn’t understand so apologized quickly and stood back. Oh yes, and that’s when I realised it was a full length mirror and I’d been smacking headfirst into my own reflection. Now that’s embarrasing enough – until the memory came flooding back and I remembered I’d done EXACTLY the same thing THREE times the day before in the FACup aftermath. Is it any wonder I’m single?

Was falling asleep by tea time and the windmill makers all went their separate ways. My own Windy Miller suggested that rather than me spending the evening at the hostel bar by myself readinga book or tinterneting we could order pizza and have a quiet evening in at his apartment. Now Suzanne, I know you especially will be having kittens at this bit, but do not panic. I think he was more worried I’d rob his telly and do a runner if he accidentally dozed off. I did express my concerns that you would be very mad if he chopped me into little pieces but he promised he wouldn’t. And I think that’s all the more reason why he looked petrified when he got in my car and was confronted by 2 pairs of scissors and a kitchen knife sitting on my dashboard. “So let me get this right, you’re worried I’ll chop YOU up, and you’re luring innocent men into your car with a knife and sharp scissors?”. Poor bloke must have feared for his life. My attempts to explain the knife was left over from taking the hamster up to Wigan fell on deaf ears. When I put Noel in his travel box it was a really hot day and I knew it wouldn’t be a nice journey for him, so I was rushing out and thought I’d grab a knife and then stop at the shop in the next village to buy a cucumber to chop up and throw in with him so he could get water from chomping that. I just forgot to take the knife out of the car, and hence its come all the way to eurupe with me! Quite innocent explanation*. Anyhoo, I convinced Windy Miller I wouldn’t kill him so we had a cosy night in with a pizza. As much as I like my own space and don’t mind holidaying alone company came along at just that right point on Saturday when I was getting a smidgen homesick trailing round Antwerpe in the rain. So need to worry at all Suzanne (but thank you that you do xxx), he’s a lovely bloke.

Dreamt of my nurses, which made me miss work. Yes stupid I know, but I’m lucky (and unusual) that I do love my job so much. Think its because I work with such a good team. And possibly the fact that we eat so much cake has something to do with it too I suspect. Homesick isn’t good when your traveling and can’t get back. But I’m doing great, don’t no-one worry.

So, that’s my Sunday in Antwerp. Didn’t do much but had quality company. Windy Miller is quite lovely, very gentlemanly and attentive, always asking am I alright and whatnot,  wouldn’t let me pay for anything,  and we get on really well. If my nurses at work are reading this then don’t get excited and go buying hats; YES, admittedly he’s very much the kind of bloke who I’d like be holding hands with, but hes a Scot living in Belgium, and I’m a Wigan girl nearly living in Wales so it’s a none starter really. He did ask me if I could stay in Antwerp longer, and I would have loved to, but “Decided to stay in Belguim and move in with Windy Miller. Eating chocolate truffels and waffles and aim to live happily ever after. The End” wouldn’t be much of a road trip would it? Maybe if Wigan play Antwerp in Europe next year we’ll meet up again, but all in all I think safe to say that Noel will NOT be getting a new Step-Dad. But hey, que sera sera, you never know!

*Hmmm, mind you, come to think, I genuinely can’t explain the 2 pairs of scissors.

Miles today: None in car, but several million walked on foot.
Total miles: Same as yesterday.
Number of umbrellas bought: 2
Number of umbrellas broke: 1
Number of umbrellas lost: 1
Football score: 1-0  🙂
Cost of champagne to celebrate: 23€

Getting behind with my days now so might not remember everything. After the pink pyjamas girl I came down the hostel stairs and opened the door at the bottom to be confronted with a little boy of about 8, in blue pyjamas, stood in the doorway silently not saying anything. Just stood stock still, not coming in and not going out, just standing in the doorway. Its like something out of sixth sense. He didn’t even move so I head to edge round him. I was tempted to ask could I take his photo, but bearing in mind a) he might have been imaginary, and b) its not really the done thing to caught asking young foreign boys can you have photographs of them in their nightwear. Later in the bar there were dozens of them, all kids in pyjamas. I really don’t know what was going on.

It rained for most of the morning so not much fun. Gave up and headed into town. Bought a brolly, broke it, bought another brolly, lost it. I’ve also given up trying to charge my phone by sitting in the car with the engine running and just bit the bullet and bought a charger with a European plug on the end. Pah!

Found a nice little Irish bar which was the only pub with a big screen and made sure they were showing the FA Cup final. I had been back to the hostel to change into a WAFC blue vest and then realised the time and how far away it was. I had to run through the rain and puddles full pelt and arrived sweaty and breathless to find there was still an hour to go. Turns out that the time of 5.15pm it had advertised on the blackboard outside was UK time, and it actually started at 6.15 european time. No idea why they don’t work on the same time as the whole of the rest of Europe – just one fiddledy dee pub in the whole of Belgium still on UK time. Pah!

Ended up sitting with 3 scottish windmill makers (they’re a bit miffed I said that and insist I point out that they design then, not actually MAKE them) (also insisted I put 3 good looking scottish windmill makers) for most of the match,  apart from 20 minutes where I sat with a very drunk lecherous bloke from Lower Ince. His mates say he lives at the posh end. Clearly rubbish, there ISN’T a posh bit of Lower Ince. Anyway, I moved on and went back to sit with the windmill men.

Still can’t believe we won. I tried my old faithful trick of going to the loo in the hope that Wigan scoared while I was away. Its never failed me yet. This why my ex always used to make me face the wall if England ever got to penalties. Anyway it worked! One nil to Wigan. For those final few minutes I stood in the middle right infront of the big screen just jumping up and down. Final whistle went and the whole place cheered and cheered. One of the windmill makers came over to hug me, someone bought me a drink,  I got high 5’s and hugs off some Bolton fans who were in on holiday from Horwich, and some Belgians also came over to say congratulations in foreign and shake my hand. Brilliant brilliant moment, I’ll never forget. Really wish I was there at Wembley with all my Billinge FC mates, but it wasn’t to be. If not actually watching it in real life at Wembley an Irish pun in Antwerp was the next best place to be! One of the windy millers got a bit chivelrous and brought over a bottle of champagne, which was nice until the barman came back to say his card had been declined. Ha ha ha. It was something I’d have done anyway to celebrate, so went down to pay for it myself. Windy Miller No1 got very offended by this and I think we might have even wrestled over it, until the barman settled the argument by shouting “For christ’s sake, the girl supports Wigan and they’ve just won the FA Cup, let her buy the champagne, it’s not likely it’s something she’ll ever be able to say again!”. So me and the 3 windy millers toasted Wigans win and chinked glasses with everyone in the pub.

I also had a bit of a cheeky snog with Windy Miller No3. The rest of the night is a blur. We went on to all Antwerps posh clubs (we’re talking £15 for 2 drinks) and I vaguely remember eating a lemon sponge gateux with squirty cream at about 1am because I was hungry and it was all the barman could russle up at that time of night when the chef had gone home. Crawled back to my hostel at 7am this morning and was met by the over enthusiastic Aussie girl who mistook me for a participant in Eurovision, and all the Sixth Sense pyjama children hearded up in reception.

There’s probably a whole boatload of other things that I’ve forgotten, I was very drunk after all the celebrations so memories will probably come back gradually!

Miles today: 73
Total miles: 435
Location: Antwerp, Begium.
Tonights accommodation: 23€, with breakfast AND sheets included. Whooooo!
Number of hours sleep I got last night in worlds noisiest hostel: about 3.
Number of hours sleep I got in my car parked up in a quiet street in Gent: 5
Number of pedrestrianisted local town squares I accidentally drove my car into: 1
“Point turn” it took to get car out again: About 37, Austin Powers stylee.
Number of C&A’s spotted: 1

Well a difference a day makes. I should have listened to my instinct last night and slept in the car. The only room left was a mixed dorm, but I thought I was being soft, and convinced myself I should be brave. In reality this meant me being woke up by 5 screaming shouting drunk Swiss  blokes at 2am, then 3am when another of their mates rolled in, then constantly shouting laughing and shreeking till 5am. After about the first hour there was a little lull, and when they started up again I asked them please to be quiet,and they laughed at me in Swiss and shouted what I’m assuming were insults and carried on whooping and  yelling. Felt a bit intimidated to get out bed in my jimjams and gather my things together to go and sleep in the car, so I just stayed put, buried my head under the duvet and thought nasty thoughts to stop myself crying. Must of worked because I eventually fell sleep and dreamt they were all pretty Swiss girls with long blonde hair but with big hairy manIy chests, being very sorry and apologetic.

Now I’m nowty when I’m tired at the best off times, so this morning was never going to be a good one. I got up at 7am and made sure I clanged and banged round a lot as I left the room. I did consider pissing in their shoes but by that point they were all awake and grumpy so I thought better of it. Thats one hostelI I will never go back to. Anyway, the sun was out first thing so wandered back into Bruges and had hot waffles and cherries for breakfast. There was a little horse and trap doing cart rides around town, and shop keepers washing down the pavements outside their shops, and baker’s with the doors open and smells of fresh bread wafting out. Very pleasant, but I was still in a vile mood. The must have been a concert on aswell, because there was temporary tiers of seating in the main square. Forgot to mention this last night but there was a big group of lads sitting in the seating, and they were throwing a frizbee to random passers by, who were catching it and throwing it back. Was all very friendly, and they were clapping all the passers by, and people sitting at pavement cafes were cheering too. So I stopped for a while and played frizbee with the people in the square. I bet they weren’t Swiss!

At 10am I still had nowhere booked for tonight so I phoned a few places (ok, a few countries if I’m honest) to decide where to go next. Everywhere decent was booked up so I thought I night at well just get on the road and see where I ended up. Where I ended up was actually just a space at the side of the road in the next city along, which was Gent. Was just too tired to drive safely so I parked up just before lunch, put sun shades up at all the windows, tipped the seat right back and got my big fluffy blanket out of the boot and fell sleep all cosy and warm in my little car for a good few hours. Phoned some more places (countries) and found what sounded like a safe hostel in Antwerp, the kind my trusty “boy scout” rule of thumb was happy with. Now, when you phone up these places to book I usually say in my best Queens English “Hello, do you speak English?” and they all reply back in a rather insulted tone of voice that yes they do. Well not this one. The bloke who answered said “Only til 11pm, and all day on Tuesdays”. My kind of hostel – boy scout friendly AND sense of humour! Took my ages to find it. Got with 20yrds of it twice, and then did a whole lap of the city centre thinking I was lost. Millions times better than last night and the sweaty grim Swiss noisy boy hovel. Very plain and simple but clean and modern. Think along the lines of “If Ikea did prisons” and you wouldn’t be far wrong. By some fluke I’ve we’ve ended up with a private double room and en suite for 21€ a night.  Just what I need.  Room to swing a cat, AND a sink to wash my contact lenses in!

My priority for tomorrow is finding somewhere showing the FA Cup final on a big screen. I had a vest made with WAFC on the front in blue before I left, but it’s not actually vest weather which is a shame. Tell you what, I did the right thing bringing a coat – its proper chilly at times. Don’t remembering it being so cold last time I did my roadtrip. Mind you, comparing the weather to the same 2 week period 2 years ago wouldn’t get you anywhere in Britain so I don’t know what made think it would be any different here. I had a little wander into town before for tea, and  so excited,  I got a Chinese in one of those takeaway boxes that American people on the telly have. That’s a tick in that box now. Small things eh? Was a challenge ordering the Chinese though. In the typical Brit “Everyone speaks English so why should I bother to learn their language” ignorance I’ve been getting by by just well…..talking English. But I really struggled with the chinese takeaway bloke. There was a lot hinging on him understanding the difference between “Very spicy” and “NOT very spicy” but by a bit of hand signals, bits of words, pointing and general “give us a clue” we got there in the end. Lionel Blare would be proud.(people reading this in work – good luck explaining that one to Laura!)

Back at the hostel now just sitting at the bar. Honestly, I couldn’t make it up. On my way out earlier the lobby was full of a sports team of somesort. All in their embroidered sweatshirts and baseball caps and team jackets. Looked very American but they weren’t. Now special there then.  Except for the fat midgety girl in pink pyjamas following them round everywhere. No-one else was batting an eyelid at her, sort of thing where I wanted to point and say “Hang on, have you lot not noticed her? Is there only me who can see her?”. Now its late, and I’m tired, so might well be halucinating, so I had to take a sneaky pic to prove she was really there.

That’s it for tonight. I’ve waffled a lot but I’m in chatty mood because I’m in a much better mood than yesterday and this morning. 🙂

Miles driven today: 152
Total miles: 362
Location: Bruges, Belgium.
Accomdation: Charlie Rockets hostel, 21€. Grim grim just grim. 1 plug socket between 8 us. But very social and trendy, nice bar and good food. Comfy beds, but just in a GRIM room.
Number of fully booked  hostels I tried before I found this one: all of them
Number of fresh farm eggs Cathers gave to me before I left this morning: 4
Number of eggs that made it to Belgium in one piece: 3
Number of burns to arms sustained trying to cook remaining eggs on gas camping stove: 2
Number of minutes spent on the phone to the Halifax trying to make them realise it IS me spending money abroad on my bank card: 12
Number of canal towpaths I have driven along by accident: 1
Number of Belgians walking on canal towpath who stopped and waved their finger at me and looked cross: 2

At the docks in Dover I was all very chilled at the prospect of foreign holiday. At Dunkirk I got overly excited and waved at all the customs officials stood there looking miserable as I cruised past with my roof down. Driving on the wrong side of the road doesn’t phase me. I’m happy to stay in hotels and whatnot by myself (well not happy, I’d rather be with someone else, but you know what I mean) but there was a scary bit when I got out of the docks and remembered that EVERYTHING is in foreign. Wanted some bread for a bacon butty (also kindly provided by Cath and Jane) and saw a big roadside advert for a supermarket. But i just couldn’t tell where it said it was, so had to drive another 25 miles or so before I passed a petrol station with a shop. Then had no euros to buy anything (maybe next time I should at least bring loose change with me). I had a moment of “What on earth made me think this was a good idea?” but the petrol station started playing MmmBop at top volume and all was well again.

Bruge is lovely. I came here last time and loved it. Its got more cobbled streets than Wetherfield. Very pretty little squares and pavement cafes and bars with the front windows flung open wide (like Tom&Jerrys in summer, but classy). I also had a good long walk down to the river and had a mooch round just outside the city itself. Too tired to be any more enthusiatic about it now though. I would have taken more pics but thebattery on my phone has gone and I’ve just realised the charger is still in Surrey. 😦 Gutted as so many pretty buildings and little cobbled bridges.

Found this shop windown which made me smile:

EDIT: Forget what I said about not minding eating by myself. I’ve just been to an Italian, and they sat me where I soon realised was the “office” area of the restaurant. The manager was busy serving but it was obviously his seat. Nowt like eating your spag bol while being surrounded by invoices, order books and boxes of butter portions.

Location: Cath & Jane’s spare room (the pink one), Surrey (that’s South West London to all you Northerners who are just thinking generally “down there somewhere”)
Miles today: 210
Total miles: 210
Cost of tonight’s accomodation: free
Number of clock radios in room: 2
Number of clock radios plugged in: 0
Best car/van I passed on the way: A salad company van “Steve’s leaves”.

Been a long day today. Decided I was NOT going to get stressed so just chilled and took my time. Packed, bought new shoes, changed some stuff at Matalan, got money, gave Joyce from next door the spare key and my parents phone number incase of emergency. I did plan on taking the car for a full valet befire I left so I’d be proudly driving a shiny and gleaming car throughout the open roads of Europe, just like you see on new car ads. But I was running late so had to make do with just wiping the bird poo off with a Johnson’s babywipe and picking the crisp packets out of the front footwell.

Actually Joyce has been getting very down recently. She asked where I was going to and when I said Sweden she said “Oh you need to be careful, is that country where they’re allowed to do away with ill people?”. I explained that was dignitas in Switzerland and her reply was “Well in that case just bring me back a gun so I can end it all. I’ve had enough of this life.”. Not much you can say to that is there? If she does want to top herself I hope she’s can hold out til I’m back. I’ve got a courier delivering some furniture on Friday and Joyce needs to unlock the garage for him.

As I was late setting off Cathers was climbing the walls for her promised chinese takeaway when I arrived. Can honestly say it was one of the worst chineses I’ve ever had. Burnt chicken balls and vinegar sauce. Second only to the raw chicken/burnt veg one from Dusseldorf. No matter how far I roam nothing beats the Happy Whatisface one near Morrisons in Kingswinford.

So that’s it for now. Early start tomorrow. Getting the ferry from Dover at 8am. I have been sensible though – as I’m usually late for everything I’ve actually booked onto the 10am ferry. I’ve told myself is the 8am one though. We can but hope eh?

Still got shedloads of washing to do, dry overnight and pack first thing in the morning.

Very organised this time. Have borrowed a travel hairdryer, and I’ve still got my trusty car hair straighteners. I found my passport weeks ago so I didn’t have to do a last minute trip to Liverpool passport office the day before, and I’ve got a satnav that has Europe on it this time. Bonus.

I also have an unknown quantity of bottles of water my Mum brought down at the weekend. I say unknown, there’s actually between 6 and 10. Its not that I have a problem counting past 5 but I’ve refused to look in the carrier bag to check. While I have come to understand that my Mum’s fussing is because she loves me there it’s only so much debate over the correct amount of bottles of water to necessary for a trip to Sweden that one person can cope with.

Lets just assume there’s 6. Any more is a bonus.

I nipped up to Wigan last night to drop off Noel my hamster with his surrogate family, The Crooks. I say “nipped” but it was actually more like 4 hours and a BBQ. They’ve text already to say he’s boring because he’s not moved and just slept all day, but he’s getting on in hamster years so I’ve left instructions to poke him with a lolly stick come 10pm just to check he’s not died.

I did nearly wail though, saft as it is I’m just used to having him as company now, and just chatter to him in the evenings, and it’s just nice having someone to look after. Managed to hold back the tears though – I’ll have two weeks without him but no need to worry as he’ll be well looked after. I can’t be phoning up from Malmo just to see if he’s ok. He’ll have a lovely time himself having so many people fussing over him.

Just dawned on me…… I left him at my Auntie’s in what I thought was a perfect spot. On top of ideal sized piece of furniture, not in direct sunlight, not too warm, not too cold, no draughts….on what I now recollect is the HEATED HOSTESS TROLLEY. If you’re reading this Julie and John please don’t let anyone switch it on by accident. Don’t want my hamster slow cooked. His species may originate in the tropical temperatures of the gobi desert but himself he’s only from Wrexham.