12 September 2008 (Friday) - Off to France

Last night saw me firmly ensconsed in Peacehaven, and after a good night’s kip and a super bit of brekky, Anne & Alan arrived at 7am, and it was off to the ferry – Simon only lives three miles from the ferry terminal so after an uneventful journey (how far wrong can you go in three miles? – I’ll return to this theme later!) we were soon in the queue to board the ferry. However, due to the channel tunnel burning down overnight, pretty much everyone else who wanted to go abroad was also in the same queue. The port was heaving, and we were two hours late in sailing. Mind you, all was not lost. The time was productively spent sniffing round the “fit bit in the converted horsebox ^TM “. We then settled down to play cards – the ferry takes four hours to get to Dieppe. After an hour or so there was an announcement on the tannoy: would I report to the information office. Now that makes you sit up and take notice. After a minor panic on my part, it transpired that Simon had had a word with the crew and seeing as in my forty-odd years this was the first time I’d ever sailed over the channel, he’d arranged for me to visit the bridge. It was huge. Probably about twenty yards wide, with three separate control consoles – one in the middle, and one on each side. We watched other ships on the radar, and chatted with the officer of the watch for half an hour before going back to play cards. I say “play cards” – it’s fair to say we all had a bit of a kip before the announcement to return to our cars was made. Driving off was fun. The hippymobile in front of us had broken down during the crossing, and we had to help the hippies bump-start the thing on the ramp off of the ferry before we could get going ourselves.

The festival area was only half a mile from the ferry terminal so we thought we’d sign in before finding the hotel. The festival was held on the beach and whilst anyone and everyone can fly on the beach, there were grass enclosures for “official participants”. So we got our passes, and spent a few minutes having a look around. We soon found some fellow Brits and spent an entertaining ten minutes winding up the local officials by flying Indian fighting kites from the top of lamp posts. For some inexplicable reason whenever this chap found a kite tied to a lamp post he would take the thing down. So with a bit of “really skilful kite flying” an Indian fighter was soon flown from the top of a lamp post.

And then to the hotel. Fortunately we’d programmed the postcode of the place into the sat-nav. Unfortunately any given French postcode covers a much larger area than a British one does, and the dulcet tones of Joanna Lumley claimed we’d found the hotel somewhere up a dingy French back street. Earlier in the day I wondered how far wrong one could go in three miles. Now I had the answer to my question.

After a nerve-wracking half an hour we were firmly ensconced in the Hotel Formula 1. It might be described as “basic”, but so many hotels offer so many facilities that you never use. A bed for the night, brekky ini the morning, and a loo & shower just down the corridor. At less than twenty quid a night you can’t complain. Even if it took a while to figure out how to work the light.

And then to the supermarket for some odds and ends. I needed toothpaste. I got a tube of stuff – it was either toothpaste or haemorrhoid ointment. I took a gamble, and it tasted like toothpaste, so it probably was. However having said that, I’ve never eaten any Preparation H before, so you never know. By now, time was getting on. There was a dinner for kite fliers at 7.30pm, but realistically we wouldn’t get there in time so we thought we’d find somewhere by the harbour for dinner. There was a minor panic when Alan missed his footing on a kerb and came down heavily. For a terrible moment I honestly thought he’d dropped dead. It was one of those schadenfreude moments – highly amusing all the time it is happening to someone else. A nasty sprain to his shoulder, but he was otherwise OK. We soon found a restaurant and settled down to “moules au curry avec frite” and chips. And found fellow kiting Brits in the same place having their tea too. It transpired that not may people had gone up to the “official” dinner. And then back to the cart, and to bed. It had been a long day…

13 September 2008 (Saturday) - Dieppe Kite Festival

Following a good brekkie, it was back down to Dieppe. We spent at least two hours wandering round the open air market getting bread, cheese, ham, blood pudding, all sorts of stuff for dinner, before going to the festival. We spent a little while seeing the sights – not only were there shops for kites and souvenirs, there were formal delegations from some thirty countries each with their own displays. We had heard reports that due to some internal politicking and civil war, half the Chinese delegation had moved in with the Spanish lot, but this was never confirmed.

Seeing all there was to see took a while, and all too soon it was time for a picnic on the sea front. Dieppe sea front is one of the more scenic coasts, and to have the place alive with kites was wonderful.

Once stuffed with bread and various meats and cheeses, we took the spirit kites on to the field and spent an hour flying – or trying to fly. Despite the best of long launches, there was very little wind at ground level. Eventually we gave up, and spent time chatting with various celebrities of the kite work, including a world champion. I didn’t know that kiting has a world champion – one lives and learns. Following another mooch around the festival and two more ice creams we drove to the chateau at the cliff top. I’d had this idea that the festival would look rather spectacular from the top of the hills. The view was good, but most of the kites were too far away. I was glad we’d driven up there and not walked and climbed, as was my original plan.

A quick trip to the supermarket, and then time for a call of nature. The French lavatories have a mind of their own. When you want to flush the things, they don’t want to know. But sit down on the kharsi, and it flushes and comprehensively soaks your undercarriage. Twice. I mention this information in a spirit of helpful warning to any British lavatarian contemplating a continental excursion. All too soon it was dark, and time for dinner. This time in a restaurant specialising in “Moules au marmite”. Which is fine for those who like marmite. Me – I went for the “moules au curry avec frite” with chips again. In retrospect they weren’t as good as those of the night before – even if they were more expensive. But the drinks in this place weren’t bad.

And back to the flying field for the night flight. Literally hundreds of kites being flown in the dark. I would have thought this was a never-fail recipe for a knot, but all went well, with various spotlights picking out individual kites. I joined in by highlighting kites with my green laser, before flying a Lidl’s 25p kite. After swapping a few insults with some old friends, it was time for bed.

14 September 2008 (Sunday) - Dieppe Kite Festival (Still)

Up early, breakfasted, car packed and we were back at the flying area by 9.00am. Bearing in mind that this is French time, back home ‘er indoors ^TM would have still been snoring like a thing possessed. We needed an early start because we’d been invited to take part in the carnival procession that morning. It was great fun. We marched around the streets for over an hour. I got to carry a Brighton Kite Fliers banner. It got heavy after a while, and I did get it caught in a couple of overhead phone cables, but there was no damage done to the banner. I don’t know about any damage that might have been done to the cables. I expect I’ll never know.

After the procession we had a quick shop for more picnic stuff, and another feast on the sea front before having a fly. I flew one half of a pair of dragon kites, and then we got out an inflatable. “Kinky Boots” – a starfish about three metres wide wearing thigh-high boots. I was photographed so many times with this kite, and recorded for French TV too.

The plan was then to have another ice cream and a bit of a wander, but it came up in conversation that the ferry was leaving somewhat earlier than we thought. Added to which, whilst we’d been flying a French car had parked directly behind our car, effectively parking us in. After a nerve-wracking few minutes we were on our way. Have you ever tried to drive through a French crowd? – They don’t get out of the way at all.

All too soon we were back on the ferry, and sailing home. I slept for quite a lot of the journey back to good old Blighty, from where it was but a short hop back to Simon’s. A slightly longer hop back to Kent, but this time I did it in less than two hours – the quickest I’ve ever done Brighton to home. I must do the journey in the middle of the night on a Sunday more often. I got to bed at half past midnight and slept like a log. It had been a long, tiring weekend. But fun. I’m looking forward to going again.