I’m not the Virgin Mary, Joseph or baby Jesus. I’m the donkey. Definitely the donkey.
It all started to go wrong in Warrington. Only about ten past one in the morning, but I’ve been up since 4.30am and have mostly been run off my feet. I realised I was tired. “Time to stop,” I thought. “I’ve cracked the back of it.”
I’m driving a lowloader full of lights to Aberdeen. It’s cold and the van only blows cold air. I hadn’t left London until after 9pm as I was dealing with personal matters after work.
Holiday Inn Warrington is the nearest place. Cheap. I carefully reverse the van so it’s parked with the back against a wall in a well lit camera covered part of the car park. I open the door and a man with a torch is standing there. “Whole place booked,” he tells me. It isn’t. We go back and forth, but he’s adamant. So I drive 5 minutes to the Premier Inn. They let me in the door there, after I have once again painstakingly parked safely. “We can’t book you in. It’s too late. The system won’t let us. And there are no rooms ready.” I am aghast, but take it in my stride. She’s ok. It’s the man with his hard back to me on the computer. She makes me a latte. 2 sugars. It probably saves my life. “Try the ABYSS”, she advises me as I’m slumping back to the van. “The… the abyss?” I query. Yeah. There’s an Ibis in town. Ahh. Eye-biss. Not Ibb-iss. Common mistake. No room at the Ibis. Back to the abyss.
Driving through the dark now I shout at Google to call a number of hotels en-route. Some answer. Some are friendly. They’re all “full”. They all recommend another place just down the road that is also full. M6 on a Thursday. It’s where it is all happening. Liars. One place has rooms. I drive to the parking lot. It feels unsafe and my load is precious. I leave.
Hours pass and the coffee is fading. I’m crawling up north still though, and I find another Travelodge, and this one is in a service station. It comes with the name of the road. Travelodge Lancaster M6. I don’t bother parking until I know, I just leave it with the hazards on. Fucker won’t even let me in the door. By now it’s half 2. He tells me to go to Barrow through the intercom. On the way back to the van I start laughing crazily and then my whole face explodes with tears. I go and put diesel in sniveling like an idiot. I put more in than I need.
Ever the optimist I try one more time. Travelodge Burton Northbound. I’m recovered from my emotional thing. There’s a friendly Saffer at the desk and he’s clearly lived. No room at the inn though, but he gives me some tips about where to sleep in the van. “I’d do it but I’m SO COLD,” I tell him. “I just want a shower.” He shrugs.
Adrenaline kicks in. “Oh fuck it all I’ll just drive to Aberdeen,” I tell myself. And I go back into the abyss.
Thankfully the South African at Burton Travelodge has sewn a seed that germinates as I see a sign for a truck stop. I’m in Penrith. Junction 38 Truckstop. It’s lively at half 3, and friendly. I get advice about how to avoid the military vans and their noisy fridges. I’ve just heard about Putin cutting the fuel again so I top up diesel ahead of the run. Then to the cab. Actually, this is the safest option. This stuff is worth a lot of money. If I’m in the van it’s safe overnight.
No blanket. No pillow. I wrap myself as well as possible. I snatch a few hours of fitful something until the dawn wakes me. I’m writing this in the cab. All my muscles are tensed from cold but I’m not shivering. I have rested in some fashion. Tonight I’ll have to do it properly. I’ll make sure the radios are charging and I’ll have to supervise the tech van in, and I was wanting to draw up a new photo list as the kit has changed again. I can do these things. But will I ever be warm again?
If I had thought about it I could have brought a thermos and a blanket, even a wee pillow. It might have been an adventure. Next time. Next time.
I’m gonna wander back to the truckstop and see about that bacon and eggs. I’m so cold.
It’s BUSY here.
AlBarclay 