Norfolk lines that is, not Norwalk (and all its viral cousins).
We have breakfast, finding that we are not the only group in the place accompanied by a pup. Hanging out all morning, I manage to get some more knit on the Solo and another book read. Slowly we move out, after all, we can’t get through the gate before 1245. I thought briefly about spending the morning in Gravelines. We had driven there yesterday to see the Vet. Old fortifications, moats, old walls – it seemed quite interesting.
If only the weather had not been so raw, wet, cold. It would have been nice to have pictures and some intersting sites other than fleets of trucks heading to or from the ferry dock.
We get to check in and hand over all the paper. A different gentleman is working today. He comes out to verify with his little chip reader that it is still the same dog as yesterday.
It is; she is scared.
Then he tells us that we haven’t paid for the dog to cross.
I look at him. My reply is something to the effect that I was in their office four times yesterday and that the woman at the desk both made arrangements for the vet and re-issued our paperwork. Nothing was said about paying extra for the dog. Can I pay him? Do I have to go out and about again? Whatever, I am just tired.
He looks at me, then says to go ahead. Not going to charge me this time.
We roll to queque D, then drive up the ramps when it is our turn.
The seas are rough.The trip not only takes an extra 20 minutes but we have a further delay at port entry since other ships have been late.
Lucky us as we drive through the rain up the A20/M20/M26/M25/M3 before escaping onto local roads and pulling through the gate.
All of us are glad to be out of the car.
Except, of course, I still have a train station run to make.