Monday, 14th July
‘French Letters’
A day of chaos and frustration. Got up early, for me at least, to ring the tax office in Draguignan, they should have been open, but no answer. Tried Fiducial Expertise in Lyon, same story. The tax office are after me for a couple of declarations for the last financial year, but I can’t for the life of me find out what they are. So I wrote letters and faxes, and left it at that. The next task was to find out check in times. The tickets said that check-in closed two hours before the flight. This struck me as a bit odd, so I rang up. No, that was a mistake, it opens then. Ah! While I had them on the phone I asked if it mattered that my ticket said Mr S Burnett? Yes it did, I would be denied boarding. With less than 20 hours to go before check-in this was far from good news. I checked the original itinerary with Expedia, and everything was correct. Clearly, as their ticketing system did not support the appellation ‘Dr,’ it had defaulted to Mr. Back on the phone, and they charged me £50 to change it, even though it was their fault. While looking at the itinerary, I realized that I had booked parking back in December. So the one I booked last week was pointless. Note to self to cancel the second one on my return.
Now late for my five patients, so I hurtle up to PG, only to find that in fact there are only two. One at 2.00, and one at 3.00, great. Hurtle home again, and ring Suzie to find out when the boys are back from Wales, only to find that Tommy was already home. Hurtle off to school an hour early to get Perry, to be told that he had decided to get home under his own steam. Hurtle home. Set up the 4 Ways pc to do some work, and check the original car booking. ‘Please call at least 24 hours in advance to arrange the meet and greet.’ SHIT! Back on the blower to the car parking people, only to be told that the company Expedia had booked us with in December, had folded in November, so there was no booking. No refund, as I would have to get that from Expedia. Aargh!
Was allocated far too much work, and they tried to send more. For once put my foot down, and said no. Off to Pizza Express for dinner, who cooks the night before a holiday? Home to meet Anita, who is keeping an eye on the house while we are away. Then over the pub for a quiet one, before the obligatory pre-travel early night.
Tuesday, 15th July
‘The Olive Grove’
The earth moved for me this morning, but not in a ‘nuff said’ kind of way. The radio alarm went off at 6.00 am, and the first words we heard were… ‘An overnight earthquake has devastated the Greek island of…. Rhodes.’ Phew, what a relief, but a hell of a wake-up call. Twelve hours in transit, OK that’s cheating a bit because of the time difference. But here we are, sitting in the Olive Grove, surrounded by bats and crickets, and watching out for shooting stars. The pomegranates are ripening, the mosquitoes are biting, and yet again, we’re home.
Troy is delighted to find his stash from three years ago. We have enough suncream to start a shop, although at 36 degrees we will probably need it. There’s condiments, beverages, water and wine. However, it has to be said that the beer was possibly past its prime.
Troy points out, over a glass of ouzo, that yesterday was Bastille Day - that would explain the need to resort to French Letters.
‘French Letters’
A day of chaos and frustration. Got up early, for me at least, to ring the tax office in Draguignan, they should have been open, but no answer. Tried Fiducial Expertise in Lyon, same story. The tax office are after me for a couple of declarations for the last financial year, but I can’t for the life of me find out what they are. So I wrote letters and faxes, and left it at that. The next task was to find out check in times. The tickets said that check-in closed two hours before the flight. This struck me as a bit odd, so I rang up. No, that was a mistake, it opens then. Ah! While I had them on the phone I asked if it mattered that my ticket said Mr S Burnett? Yes it did, I would be denied boarding. With less than 20 hours to go before check-in this was far from good news. I checked the original itinerary with Expedia, and everything was correct. Clearly, as their ticketing system did not support the appellation ‘Dr,’ it had defaulted to Mr. Back on the phone, and they charged me £50 to change it, even though it was their fault. While looking at the itinerary, I realized that I had booked parking back in December. So the one I booked last week was pointless. Note to self to cancel the second one on my return.
Now late for my five patients, so I hurtle up to PG, only to find that in fact there are only two. One at 2.00, and one at 3.00, great. Hurtle home again, and ring Suzie to find out when the boys are back from Wales, only to find that Tommy was already home. Hurtle off to school an hour early to get Perry, to be told that he had decided to get home under his own steam. Hurtle home. Set up the 4 Ways pc to do some work, and check the original car booking. ‘Please call at least 24 hours in advance to arrange the meet and greet.’ SHIT! Back on the blower to the car parking people, only to be told that the company Expedia had booked us with in December, had folded in November, so there was no booking. No refund, as I would have to get that from Expedia. Aargh!
Was allocated far too much work, and they tried to send more. For once put my foot down, and said no. Off to Pizza Express for dinner, who cooks the night before a holiday? Home to meet Anita, who is keeping an eye on the house while we are away. Then over the pub for a quiet one, before the obligatory pre-travel early night.
Tuesday, 15th July
‘The Olive Grove’
The earth moved for me this morning, but not in a ‘nuff said’ kind of way. The radio alarm went off at 6.00 am, and the first words we heard were… ‘An overnight earthquake has devastated the Greek island of…. Rhodes.’ Phew, what a relief, but a hell of a wake-up call. Twelve hours in transit, OK that’s cheating a bit because of the time difference. But here we are, sitting in the Olive Grove, surrounded by bats and crickets, and watching out for shooting stars. The pomegranates are ripening, the mosquitoes are biting, and yet again, we’re home.
Troy is delighted to find his stash from three years ago. We have enough suncream to start a shop, although at 36 degrees we will probably need it. There’s condiments, beverages, water and wine. However, it has to be said that the beer was possibly past its prime.
Troy points out, over a glass of ouzo, that yesterday was Bastille Day - that would explain the need to resort to French Letters.
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