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Published: September 4th 2009
Incessant, driving rain, and a filthy windscreen, hamper progress to Antwerp. That, and searching diesel stations round Calais for the elusive heavy truck road tax needed for Belgium. I'm now back on the Tina Turner tour European leg - no White Cliffs of Dover again, for me, until early April.
Bed at 3am. At 6.35, outside my truck window, a drunken colleague on this twenty-truck tour holds a loud, slurred, incoherent conversation. Then “Namibian Colin”, who shall feature regularly in this blog, accidentally blows his airhorn at 9 o'clock. When doing his daily sit-up getting out of bed, his bulky paunch catches the stalk on the steering column; he's simply too fat!
24th January: Terrible! Four bendy young honeys in miniskirts degrading themselves on stage...IN LEATHER. Yes, of course I watched the show. 'All this crumpet is bad for my blood pressure,' I wheezed chattily to Spotlight Operator Number Six. 'Not mine,' he said. 'I take tablets.'
A sexy camera angle captures a guitar riff and four swaying rumps - in deliciously tight outfits. The rhythm section sizzle. Dancers' tousled hair flies in all the right directions in 'rolling on a river'. There's a token sensible
haircut among them, though: the “thoroughly modern millie” of rock 'n' roll. 'Big wheels keep on turning...' yells Tina.
My eighteen wheels certainly do. Sixteen forward gears; 750 kilometres to Berlin. Probably a bit less if I hadn't let Namibian Colin go in front. His narration over video footage from his truck is priceless: 'this is me getting us lost.' 600 km in one day seems quite enough - and anyway, I've finished my audio book - so we pull into Bobby's Diner for cheeseburgers.
Tot: 1.131s; Tpl: 0.049s; cc: 12; qc: 31; dbt: 0.0167s; 1; m:saturn w:www (22.214.171.124); sld: 2;
; mem: 1.3mb