I never thought I would find myself thinking...

... "I am so sick of ham, cheese, and bread..."

But then again I never thought I would find myself thinking "On the train a Frenchman's ferret was eyeing me suspiciously"

I guess France will do that to you

So, a lot of catching up to do my good people, as you may have deduced I have been off the grid somewhat for a few days, apologies also to anyone who tried to email, that has failed due to confusion over what country I am in... I still have my phone if anyone needs me, seems to work. Except for my data, which has also failed to make the transition to Europe. Ah technologies...

Contented this evening in a hotel room in Belgium would you believe. My stars the things that go on these days. I have a bottle of red wine and just demolished a pizza because that was the best I could do for food apparently, short of going Full Belgian and going for fruity beer and chips with mayo. But that's ok, the place doesn't seem too bad. Apart from many reasons I will probably get to in a "What really grinds my gears" rant at some stage. I knew my body had gone into travel mode when I pondered trying to find food when everything was closed and almost flagged it, and then realised that  in the last three days I have only eaten a continental breakfast, a baguette, a gas station sandwich and a tube of Pringles. I had to, they were a weird French cheese flavour. I am being culturally diverse. But fear not, I am fed and now C.W. Stoneking is on my headphones and the party is right here... Give him a listen and once you are done read his story, which is actually pretty remarkable.

So anyways... Quite a lot to recap. I think it would probably be wise to break  it down into days... Or  would it... Hmm... Ok, so when we last left my adventures, on to day 3 of the tour...

The tour was I guess you would say punctuated by quite a lot of emotions. Granted not something I do a lot of, but it was interesting to see people from all walks of life together because of a common interest. While I worried that the wrong guide on a tour could make it a misery, or that getting a group of people together like that could potentially be utterly painful, I was, I would have to say pretty lucky. There was perhaps one Nigel No Mates "war tour enthusiast" who was something of of a twonker, there was one dad with his uber annoying 11 year old, but the dad himself was a good guy (ex RAF also, no surprise there!)... But most everyone had a connection to the war via relatives or had served or had an interest in that part of history, and that common thread made it really interesting, and created a weird common bond among people who would never otherwise associate.

One of the guys, who we shall call Dave, a four foot wide, shaved headed, chain-on-wallet and  stomping boot wearing, Ross-Kemp-But-Actually-Scary looking guy of about 50 who spent the first three days blending quietly into the background eventually figured that I was also one of the few non-RAF types around. After sizing me up with a few questions we started chatting and he told me a bit about his Army history. Which was pretty serious business in itself, but which unfortunately finished badly when it turned out that due to Army clerical errors he ended up paying off a huge tax bill and he left the career he loved with a huge burden to carry and no answers. Later in conversation with some of the others he revealed that as well as driving milk tankers, he was also now involved in Help for Heros and as a case officer for returned soldiers with mental health problems. By the last night, which was a bit of a blowout after a fairly heavy week, he told a few of us how the shared emotions of the trip had helped him come out of his shell, as he was usually fairly quiet, and found it hard in groups, as a mortar attack in Afghanistan had left him almost totally deaf with tinnitus that he could only sometimes control. Finally when one of the older ladies was talking about the sadness of men of WW1 with shell shock, Dave quietly reassured her by explaining his experience coping with diagnosed PTSD. Stuff like that just floors me.

One of the less serious side affects of this journey has been that a good number of us have ended up with what Gary the Guide calls 'Shell Fever'.. every spring  the farmers of France reap what quickly became knows the 'Iron Harvest', when they