9th March '09 PINK. Of course I don’t know who she is, but is that just so uncool that it’s almost cool? No, I didn’t think so. Namibian hasn't a clue either, but we both recognise songs from airtime on the radio. Well, we'll go and have a little look at her concert - to see what all the fuss is about. Once upon a time, reciprocal laminates abounded; drivers from one tour would organise free passes for colleagues within the industry, and vice versa. However, in today's financially crippled economy - does Pink get the bus to her shows? - [View Full Entry]

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7th March '09: Tachographs are a dashed nuisance. Namibian and I awoke yesterday after five hours in bed - separate beds, that is - faced with a dilemma. Either we go immediately, to reach our destination within a regulation “spread-over” period of fifteen hours; or we wait another four hours, to complete a nine-hour daily rest. These hard-and-fast rules just do not suit this industry; both options - in the name of safety regulations - leave us knackered. We choose the latter, dining on bacteria and a bread roll to eke out the time. But I totally forgot it was Friday. [View Full Entry]

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5th March '09: Namibian, never a picture of athleticism, has taken a turn for the worse. With sunken eyes and clutching a bottle of cough mixture, he looks like a Peruvian spectacled bear. His nose runs as he asks how far it is to the shopping centre. My reply - ' a fifteen-minute walk' - has him wincing, and coughing; rather than attempt such an undertaking, he shuffles despondently round his trailer. It’s as though I’ve suggested a twenty-mile trek through searing desert. What he desperately needs - aside from new lungs, new feet and a hairstyle - is an extension [View Full Entry]

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3rd March '09: One can fool about with blunderbusses and grapeshot for only so long. Moving swiftly from Dinant’s Citadel, Ive and I drive to Durbuy, ‘the smallest city in the world’. If asked, though, I'd lean towards it being more of a village. What constitutes a city, anyway? I used to thing it was a cathedral. Any ideas? Or the difference between a town and a village? This is your perfect opportunity to leave an erudite comment. How about the difference between a village and a hamlet?! Oh I don't know - I used to be indecisive, but now I'm [View Full Entry]

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1st March '09: I got drunk last night. Well, not “falling down” drunk - more like four pints, or the equivalent in Euroland measures. Now I could pretend I need ten pints to feel tipsy, but why bother lying? I can’t drink, and that’s the end of it. Namibian’s almost the same, unless whisky is involved. So, more than one beer, and Namibian and I are awake like old men at five in the morning, bemoaning the big night out. I might have to contain drinking, in future, to a small finger of port after lunch - then perhaps allow myself [View Full Entry]

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27th February '09: The trouble with tourist attractions is that they’re teeming with tourists. A bus full of English school children rolls up just as I arrive at Les Catacombes, considerably lengthening the queue. Standing in the cold, mostly in pairs of various nationalities, feels like waiting for a space on Noah’s Ark. We wait, and wait, at a drab, colourless shed. It looks like a lifeless building from the German Democratic Republic, and marks the entrance to a subterranean ossuary. Balding Indian men in puffer jackets inspect rucksacks, letting eight people in at a time [View Full Entry]

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25th February '09: Have you ever stood at the side of a motorway, or on a bridge? Did you notice how painfully slowly trucks seem to be travelling? Supposedly in the name of safety, they are all fitted with speed limiters which fixes the speed at 90km/h. No matter how hard one presses the accelerator, the truck is governed at this speed. Safety? It’s enough to bore you to death. Irish and Spanish lorries appear to be exempt from this law, thundering past at more like 110km/h. The point is that, even after two full days of solid driving, we’re still [View Full Entry]

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23rd Feb '09: As a truck driver, the job description entails driving...which is the bit I don't like. Trucks, as far as I’m concerned, are simply vehicles for travelling to the next interesting place. Yes, there's the occasional knickerless strumpet and, indeed, beautiful scenery en route...but international roads, like domestic motorways, are generally tediously dull. While Namibian fawns over 660-horsepower beasts, and photographs eight-axle juggernauts - we discussed his steering wheel fetish, remember? - I would prefer almost any other mode of transport. Yet there is little ca [View Full Entry]

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August '09 Krakow is Poland's second largest city, and certainly its jewel. This is a beautiful city - google it! - deserving more than a long weekend to do it justice. A snippet from Introducing Krakow reads: 'accordion players ply trade next to old trouts selling bobble hats and bagels.' That should whet your appetite. Need I mention, too, that Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp is a very accessible “attraction” from here? Or the salt mines in the Tatras mountains? So, while the idea of visiting percolates, let me take you to the Harris jazz club, situated off the m [View Full Entry]

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21st February '09: A scorcher! Today is forecast to reach the dizzying heights of zero degrees Celsius - hardly sunbathing weather, yet naked men are out and about. I’ll come back to them.. While Karl erects a coffee table barely higher than an ant, Anna serves home-made bread in an upturned, knotted handkerchief. They pad around their flat in fluffy dressing-gowns, speaking lovely, undulating Swedish. As they boil eggs, I spend a short time watching my laundry from the loo. Unusual in the UK, but Swedish flats commonly house washing machines in the bathroom. Oh, I feel that c [View Full Entry]

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