Twiddling my thumbs at the Rotterdam depot. Waiting on 72 pallets of Chinese tumble dryer. Five games of online chess, four YouTubes of sweary parrots, three Gordon Ramsay Kitchen Nightmares, two Idiots In Cars and a partridge in a pear tree later, it’s 12 noon. Another Pot Noodle for lunch. Spicy seafood, the label alleges. Tastes like my boxers on Day 5 of my European Tour. Paris-Frankfurt-Warsaw-Gdansk-Rotterdam loop. Got some cubes of mango for dessert. Yard manager Gus blames a chronic shortage of forklift drivers. Only three out of ten showed up today. They get better offers elsewhere, Gus says, so off they bugger. Must tell Emily. ‘See, O Daughter of Mine? It’s not just Great Britain!’ My daughter’s gone all lefty now she’s a nurse. Reads the Guardian, God help us. Everything’s the fault of Brexit, says the Gospel of Woke. Galloping prices? Sewage in the rivers? Shrinking Toblerones? Brexit’s to blame. I tell her, ‘Think like a person, not like a sheeple.’ Emily says it’s people who use the word ‘sheeple’ who think like sheeple. Which is exactly what people brainwashed by the mainstream media would say.
‘Game, set and match to Vincent Costello.’
Reasons to be Cheerful. Gus texted me I’m next on his list, so I should be out of here by one. Meaning, I’ll wake up at Chez Moi tomorrow, not some Belgian Arse End of Nowhere truck stop. What other glad tidings can I offer? The Jonester found me an oil pump and release valve for my Norton. A Manx 500 from 1953. Parts are not easy to come by, shall we say. I’ll install it tomorrow, in time for the Boxing Day tour. What else? I’m not banged up in prison. That one never loses its shine, even after 18 years. One of my two kids is talking to me.
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