Miss Daisy's Normandy Diary

At the end of August 2013, Her Ladyship went to France in Miss Daisy, accompanied by another seven cars.  Over the next few blogs, she relates her experiences.

Tuesday 20^th August

Why did she have to bring him along?  I mean, it’s me exclusively for this sort of trip.  You know what she says, “Hello Old Girl.  Guess what?  We’re going back to France with some of your relatives.   How about that then?” 

That’s what she said to me when she raised the matter of a trip to Normandy back in May.  No mention of him though. Oh no, no, no, no, no.  No mention whatsoever that the Grey One was coming along too.

So there we were, Wee Fergus, The Grey One and myself, sitting in the sunshine waiting for our drivers and passengers to load us up.  Her Ladyship me, The Nice Mister Tony and his daughter Danielle had chosen to travel in the Grey One – poor fools.  Then in Wee Fergus were The Nice Missus Debbie and the nice Missus Jane.

“It’s going to be a glorious week,” announced Her Ladyship.  “Checked the forecast for Caen and it’s going to be thirty four degrees on Thursday.  Lots and lots of bright sunshine are promised, how about that then?”  There were nods of acquiescence as everyone climbed aboard us and we were off to Cardiff.  I was worried about my brakes and par for the course, Madam had not done anything about them and every time she applied the pedal, my rear brakes snatched and I really didn’t like it.  I think that somehow she thought the problem would go away.  Of course it didn’t.

Wednesday 21^st August

We’d stopped at a Travelodge just outside Cardiff and first out the next morning  was the Nice Mister Tony who tended to Wee Fergus’s and the Grey One’s needs.   A while later, Her Ladyship materialised, she’d not had a good night.

“Bloody Travelodge...  Bloody bed...  I hardly slept a wink.”  She continued grumbling as she checked me over.  “Now Old Girl, your brakes, let’s see what we can do to stop you snatching at your rear end.”  She dived underneath me.  No that’s wrong, she gingerly lowered herself to the ground armed with a spanner and some pliers and proceeded to loosen my rear nearside brake cable. 

“Right, let’s see how that works,” she said as she got in and started me up.  We proceeded around the car park and every now and again pressing my brake pedal.  Each time my rear wheels would lock causing me to skid.

“It’s no good,” Her Ladyship announced to the assembled drivers and passengers on our return.  “She’s still having her brakes lock.” 

“We’ll take a look at her at the services at coffee time,” The Nice Mister Tony said.  “Now let’s get on.”

We finally made it to Portsmouth at 5.00pm.  We made it because my rear brakes had been loosened right off and I was only able to rely on my front brakes to stop.  This meant that Her Ladyship had to really anticipate every time she wanted me to stop.  If she didn’t we would sail on, straight over a road junction.  Joining us at Portsmouth were the Nice Mister and Missus Bob and Ann and the Nice Mister and Missus Richard and Susan.  Also joining us were Her Ladyship’s friends from Cardiff, who for some strange reason had decided to come this far by train.  I can’t think why.

 

She’s Got Spoked Wheels, Of Course She Qualifies!

It all started when Her Ladyship got me out early one morning for a good clean.

“Got to have you spick and span Old Girl.  Charity do and all that.  You’re going to be carrying someone older than you, and there aren’t many on this planet that fit that bill are there?”  She wandered into the house chuckling to herself. Cheeky cow!

Moments later, she was back with the Asthmatic Barking Dog and we were off.

“Pembroke Castle, here we come.  A helicopter is bringing this man there and then we have to take him to meet a few motor cyclists who are taking him for a bike ride.  Not sure how he'll keep his balance though.”

We got to the castle and Her Ladyship manoeuvred me in through the gates.  The place seemed deserted.

“Strange, there’s no one here Old Girl.  We’re on time and on the right date aren’t we?  Ah there’s someone.  Helloooo, helloooo?  Can you help me?”  I do wonder why when she has a query; she starts to speak to people very slowly and succinctly.

“I am supposed to be meeting a man with a helicopter.  He’s landing here and I have to give him a lift to the Commons Car Park.”

“Well Lady, you are out of luck.  No helicopter landing here.  The Civil Aviation Authority thought it would be too dangerous.  They are landing on the football field now.  You better hurry, because they’ll be landing soon.”  Her Ladyship, who has by now emerged from my driving seat, leaped back in and started me up.

“Bloody ‘elf and safety.  They always succeed in screwing up other people’s fun... the Barstards!”

The helicopter had touched down as we arrived at the football ground and an elderly gentleman was being helped out.  Her Ladyship pulled alongside.

“Oi...  Who said that you could park that old banger on my field?”  I think this voice belonged to the grounds man and I don’t think he was too pleased at my tyre marks on the pitch.

“Oh, I am sorry.  I am so, so very sorry.  But at the castle, they said I was to come here and I was just obeying orders.  Anyway, that helicopter is much heavier than this car and you don’t seem too unhappy about that.”

“Ah, but I gave permission for it to park there...  But not you!  Move it!”  By this time an elderly gentleman had arrived beside me.  Her Ladyship chose to ignore the grounds man, muttering something about a ‘bloody little Hitler’ and turned to the new arrival.

“Hello, how do you do?  You are the gentleman I am chauffeuring to where the motor cyclists are waiting for you.” 

“Yes I am, How do you do?”

This is Miss Daisy and she is going to take you.  Hop in.”  Asking a 94 year to ‘hop in’ was rather too optimistic I thought.  But he did manage... eventually, and without any help from you know who.

We headed back into Pembroke and round the town arriving at an enormous car park where not a few motorcyclists were waiting, but about 500.

“Ah here you are.  And Mr. Jones, welcome.  Can I help you out?  You are now going to be kitted out to ride on the back of a motor tricycle.  The new arrival was a stout man with a platted beard and dressed from top to toe in leathers.  He helped the old man out and a colleague helped him away to find his new mode of transport, but not before he came round to the front of me to thank me for the nice ride.  I think Her Ladyship was a bit put out that he did not thank her.  Anyway, I did all the work. 

“Are you going to join us?”  The man in the leathers had turned to Her Ladyship.

“Well that’s very kind of you, but I know this is a special motorcycle event and I fear we are hardly a motor bike.  Anyway, I am not sure I’d keep up with you.”  I think Her Ladyship was keen to get home.  Leather man peered at me.

“Nonsense, she’ll be capable of 30 to 40 mph won’t she?”  Her Ladyship nods.

“As for qualifying as a motorbike.  Well she may have two wheels too many, but she’s got spoked wheels.  Of course she’ll qualify.”

Personally I do not understand for the life of me why I have to qualify for anything at my age.

 

Here I am!