Just when we thought the day was finally over, there was more incidents along the way. We arrived in the port of Calais and as luck would have it we got pulled over by the customs officials. Jan P got out of the murtahurm and unlocked the back door. The customs officer's first question was, "is the dog inside?" Jan P replied, "yes, a fuckin big Scottish one." The door opened and Big Jock barked at him. Once Big Jock had been shellacked for pissing around with one of Her Majesty's officials, the customs officer asked Big Jock to open various cubbyholes whilst he shone his torch around. Things were going great until the customs officer said, "what's in there?" Big Jock said, "Bombers bog - you don't want to go in there!" to which the customs officer took one look and replied, "too right I don't," and went off muttering something about, "I can't be arsed with all that shit." Big Jock wondered how the customs officer new about Bomber's emergency dump in Epernay? Fuckin hell, those customs officers are good!
Once the search was complete we went to see the French ferry man and gave him our reference number, which I hasten to add was arse about face. Eventually he found our booking and let us have an earlier ferry - two hours early; happy days, things were beginning to look up. (Don't count your chickens!)
Once on board we noticed the ferry was full of Eastern Europeans and Irish bog trotters. Big Jock and Jan P went shopping with the last of their Euros and George spent his on beer - good lad, hardcore to the last. "You can be proud of him as your new son-in-law Benger!"
After spending just over an hour looking at the finest set of tangos yet to be seen this trip, like a couple of well moulded Chivas jellies, the Spit Roast Special got off the ferry and managed to dodge British customs at Dover. Lucky really because it was at this point Jan P and George noticed that SRS had no lights. Side lights yes, full beam yes, but the normal night driving configuration? No! The council house murtahurm had a bloody power cut. Jan P drove the 30 miles to Maidstone via Leeds Castle, upsetting all the drivers on both sides of the road by driving with his full beam on. We even got passed by, not 1 but 3 police cars but didn't get pulled - the gods had finally looked favourably on us, or had they?
After parting company with George at Leeds Castle, I've never seen so much gear loaded into a Ford Focus - it was like an episode of "Challenge Anneka," Jan P and Big Jock made haste for junction 5 of the M20 and safety. On reaching junction 5 it had a big sign saying "road closed," the shit just kept on coming! Undeterred Jan P and Big Jock carried on to junction 4 and did an about turn back south eventually reaching the safety of Bengers house some 10 minutes later.
Spit Roast Special was stripped of Jan P and Big Jocks gear, well most of it. On driving back to London, Big Jock realised he'd left all his shirts, trousers and special agent suit hanging up inside SRS. He is currently sat in his underpants typing this blog! Bomber, get back here and bring my clothes with you!
Hopefully this should now be my last entry as Keeper of the Blog. I hope you enjoy the final installments and the book should be published early next year and will be in WH Smiths for £11.99 - TTFN
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