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My normal week started at lunchtime on a Sunday. I would collect my truck from Container Base Perry Barr where I used to park it when not in use, then round the corner to Chambers and Cook Freight the freight agents I was working for, to collect a loaded trailer. Then drive down to Spaghetti Junction and join the M6 southbound onto the M1, round the M25, onto the M20, down to Euro Tunnel to catch a shuttle through the tunnel into France. First stop Cash and Carry to collect beer and wine, then no stopping on the way back, then no unwanted passengers (illegal immigrants) who hide out at the Cash and Carry to jump on trucks for a free ride back to the U.K. From the Cash and Carry I would drive through the French border into Belgium, then just over 200 miles South East to a Caterpillar factory at Gossilies near Charlerois (remember the World Cup) to deliver new machine parts for the production of excavators. Unload, then drive to Caterpillar parts distribution at Grimbergan near Brussels to reload with spare parts for delivery to the U.K. I could repeat this round trip 3 times a week or possibly go further afield with deliveries to France, Belgium and Holland, reloading from Germany: when you work for yourself you take whatever work is available. My truck was a Renault Magnum, which has a very large cab, double bunk, television, video and cooker, home from home. ALL CHANGE a normal week (WITH ATTITUDE) Sunday 23rd September started a normal week for me, as I thought, trundling down the motorway. Back home Tuesday morning, back to Belgium Tuesday afternoon, deliver Wednesday morning, reloading Wednesday afternoon at Caterpillar Grimbergan. A couple of hours sleep in the truck park before loading. Reverse onto the deck for loading. A coughing and wheezing spell, too many fags that day again. One of the other drivers came over to me and said he didn’t like the look of me (O.K I’m ugly, but big and tough). He went to the factory surgery and got the Red cross worker who looked at me, checked my pulse, (which was in sleep mode) and called an ambulance. The ambulance arrived very quickly. Uh. uh? Something must be wrong with me, can’t be, I’m never ill. Oh well, out of the truck into the ambulance, back to the truck, forgot my tobacco, back into the ambulance. Raced to the hospital, only round the corner from Caterpillar. Oow!! Who stuck a pipe up my willie? Who’s incontinent? What’s wrong with me? I ask in broken English with a Belgium accent. Heart attack, someone says in broken English with a Belgium accent, copycats. Oh well, I was due for one of them, overworked, over smoked, over here. Belgium yum yum national dish chips and mayonnaise mmmmmmm. But not for me. No food or drink for three weeks, just pipes and tubes stuck on with parcel tape so they would not fall off. Hello love how are you? An English voice: my wife, two friends and two of my sons had flown out to see me. My wife informs me no heart attack but as a consolation prize a severe stroke. Blood clot to brain. No feeling or movement in the left hand side of body, arm or leg, unable to move at all. Electric hoist for any movement. Wonderful intensive nursing from staff but it was always argued as to which way I would face after being turned. What’s left or right in Flemish? After 3 weeks rest for body and stomach, time to head for the U.K. A high-speed ambulance is arranged. I have a bed arranged at Good Hope Hospital, but must be there by 4:00pm that day. No problem, the driver tells me, as I am put into the ambulance at 08:00, 4 hours to the shuttle at Calais. About 1 hour through the tunnel, about 4 hours to Good Hope. We arrive at Calais to find ques of traffic. We have priority, said the driver, and we make it through the system onto the platform for loading. It was here we were told the Euro Star had broken down in the tunnel and there could be hours of waiting. After contacting his base the driver drove to P&O at Calais where they had delayed the Pride of Kent boat for us as long as we were prepared to travel on the car deck back to England. No problem, just get us home! After we set sail the ship’s purser came down to see us and asked if there was anything we wanted. Being a connoisseur of cross channel food and very hungry I asked if I could have home made steak and kidney pie with roast potatoes from the truck driver’s restaurant. With a mug of tea, which was duly arranged and delivered to me on my bed in the ambulance “mmm” who’s spoilt? Arrived at Dover drove off the ferry and headed for home, a little late now, and was offered overnight accommodation at a private hospital, but can’t stop, bed waiting at Good Hope hospital which had taken a lot of organising. Midnight arrived at the hospital. A brummie voice greets us with Hooray you are here want a cup of tea love? A feeling of relief…..What a trip!!
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