A tough job
I’ve driven in Europe a couple of times recently; on both occasions, I’ve taken the Dover-Calais ferry. It’s always been the convenient way for me: I suffer from claustrophobia, so being trapped on a train in a 20 mile tunnel really isn’t my idea of an easy journey! I’ll brave the London Underground after a few drinks, but then, I’m not driving.
Calais isn’t the place it used to be a few years ago. It used to be a welcome few hours break from Chatham, now the two towns are so similar, you might as well drive a couple of laps of the M25 motorway and then go home!
There’s still something different though. You don’t get hassled by increasingly angry and threatening migrants who want you to smuggle then across the English Channel when you’re at Dover, waiting to board the ferry. I’m a big bloke. I’m 6’2″, and work on a farm, but the last couple of times I’ve been parked up in Calais, awaiting my ferry, I’ve felt really intimidated. As soon as you get out of your car, it’s like one of those zombie films. They just suddenly appear, even though they move quite slowly. Before you know it, you’re surrounded, cut off from your car!
That got me thinking about the people who make that crossing two or three times a week for a living. That’s a really tough job.
A tough job