Ship Jumping

The sinks never emerged. We drove to Wales. In the morning we moved some things from one place to another. When they were all in the other place there was some debate about whether they'd needed moving at all. Out of these things we then assembled bigger things. It went on for days. I broke two drill bits because I am not a real man. Also weeded a path. Twelve tons of woodchip didn't arrive. Evenings we drank. Eight a.m. we stood in a circle and made decisions. There were a lot of other people there in training to become better at what they enjoy. I slept in a bunk bed and became itchy. Lunchtimes there were classic soups.

You Do Do You

There were no more holes to dig and fill in again. We smashed up some hard things with big sticks with pointy bits.

There is a sink mystery. We need some sinks to go in the sheds that we built for the sinks. Months ago they were in the shipping containers on site. When we opened them yesterday they were not there. There were a lot of items there that were not sinks, like forks and mattresses and urns. We would pick something up and ask: is this a sink? If the answer was no, we would repeat the process with a different item until there were no more items left to assess.

After it turned out that nothing we had was a sink, we then made sure that the things we initially thought were not sinks were not sinks disguised as not-sinks. We were right. Then we put everything back again.

There were no flies. The spiders ate rust flakes.

Before all that we spread some gravel on a bit that didn't have any gravel on it.

Down and Right a Bit

We stayed in the peasant palace with the whole top floor to ourselves and six beds each. The other buildings were mostly roofs and the bank had a big mosaic of a wench on it. The shops were open for five minutes a week.
The site was placed between a lake and a prison for screaming geese. It was about the size of a large Tesco. We dug some holes and filled them back in again.
Then the drive to Hauteville. I used to work there. So did Shane. He is managing the site this year. I am not. We dug some holes and filled them back in again. What we filled them in with was better than what we took out of them. At one point one of the holes had to be moved to the left a bit. Then we went for dinner at the bar restaurant up the road along the beach round the corner. They know us and Hassan immediately made Geoff go behind the bar to pour us a load of drinks, flavoury ones with unusual aromas served in fancy glass hats. We drank them and some pizzas appeared, followed by more drinks and more pizzas and so on until everybody had had enough pizza and then more drinks appeared and I think he invited us to Morocco, I'm not very sure, one of his kids was there sat opposite with a shirt on looking like when will I see the end of all this hooting drudgery, they must think they're the magnificent fucking seven, and it turned out he was waiting to go bowling and had been since before we walked in unannounced and he was ten years old and we quickly departed shouting and demonstrating advice about bowling technique.
The next day we dug some holes and filled them in again, and there was a bit of a side-plot involving posts and screws and ropes and chainsaws and the sun behind us. Hassan dropped off some enormous ham baguettes and fizzy drinks and glasses. When we'd finished things off we went back for a meal, he'd bought us white fish, I can't remember its name, it was with potato and exactly right and there was a lot of wine and some beer and some whiskey and it became extremely difficult to leave.

Then the drive to Savane. It's almost the length of France. The length is like the width but longer. It took about forty years and the satnav lady has a patronising voice, did they hold auditions for it or did they already know just the woman. We went to a very tense service station and ate cheese. My phone stopped working while I was right in the middle of something and I realised the charger was the length of France away and I went beserk to myself and then calmed down angrily and then relaxed.

Portion Control

Buses in Birmingham don't give any change. None whatsoever. This isn't advertised to the visitor, you have to find out yourself by getting on the bus with a tenner, maybe it's slightly too much but there's a chance he'll have a fiver and there's always a load of coins and you don't mind coins really they're good for buying snacks so everything'll be alright, but it wasn't and I had to get off dejected and sweaty with two bags having jogged from the hotel thinking I wouldn't want to not be on that bus because it could make me late and I don't want to be anything that isn't early, but I was because I had to go to McDonald's because it was the nearest place and quite far away too to hassle the moonfaced hunchback for some change from the till that doesn't open if no-one's making a purchase which I definitely wasn't because it was McDonald's so we had to wait for a girl with one earphone still in to umm and ahh and oh I'm not sure until she decided on a coffee at which point kerching and he slopped out some change and I went back to the bus stop with my two bags and less sweatily got the next bus and sat down upstairs until I saw the Audi garage the driver told me to look out for, I thought he was saying Irie garage, you want the Irie garage mate, right cheers, but when I saw the Audi sign I thought ah this must be the place, and I went back downstairs and the air was thick with schoolkids in uniforms tittering and I had to smash all their foreheads off just to reach the exit. Then I wasn't anywhere I should have been and I went into the garage and consulted an a to z and then another one and got a man who drove a lorry to point me where I needed to go then I went there and arrived.

The ferry was grey and we bought food that strongly resembled disaster and Beth paid nine euros ninety nine for a decomposing yellow shoe with some green beans round it and after we'd all finished we stuck our fingers in each other's mouths and brought the whole mess back up onto the plates and took it to the hatch for a partial refund. I still had some change left from the bus and thought about buying The Book of Mince which featured a martini glass full of meat on the front cover and contained "the" seventy-two recipes you'd be needing in your new mince-based existence.

We drove to Ardres which Geoff calls Calais' armpit. The local speciality is kebab on a grand scale deep fried and served with chips on a plate the size of Russia.
The next day we worked on the site and there was some confusion about a shed.
The day after that twelve tons of gravel arrived and some of us spread it and some of us did more cement-based things, while the shed-centric befuddlement escalated until eventually it was decided we should smash it to fucking pieces so we did and then burned it and went out for another massive kebab.