Summa sidvisningar

Leta i den här bloggen

Jag skall försöka beskriva mina osannolika men ändock ganska så sanna påståenden så bra jag kan, så det kommer säkert att bli mycket exeptionellt och kontroversiellt



Leta i den här bloggen


Moder natur, Klicka på bilden för mera bilder

söndag 28 augusti 2011

Carrots redheads Vikings looking at Barfleur in Brittany

In English

Carrots redheads Vikings looking at Barfleur in Brittany

On the 800's were the Vikings down in Brittany and torn around.
I had loosened the Danish hams down at a slaughterhouse in Josselin. A place that I often came to. There was an old castle there as I ever was going to visit for what it looks like inside. It looked a bit odd. That was what attracted.

Once when I was there and broke it would have been dinner and all were at a diner. I had found a place to eat for myself just a short distance from pork factory, which I ate at every time.
But this time, ask the guys who broke up if I wanted to follow them to another place. Yes I can, I said. Get in the car here so we drive, they said. I climbed into the back seat and sink into the cushion on the old Renault. And so he drove about 400 meters around, and so they stepped out. I saw that it was a bar where I thought they would buy some cigarettes or something, so I stayed because I was convinced that they would continue to run. Not just 400 meters.
The guys opened the back door for me and looked at me like, "did not you." So it was sunset and get out because we arrived at the restaurant. I laugh, run 400 meters by car to get to a restaurant. They could well go. The guys understood what I mean in the end and laugh too.

When I had unloaded where I called home and was ordered to drive to a small village called Barfleur southwest of Caen. There I would load the 'carota' home to Denmark. Carrots, that is. Well, that was just starting up all Ardennes horses in the Volvo and the drag on the north by the beautiful coast of Normandy.

One more picture from St. Briuc in Bretagne from this time

Preferably town Dinan's beautiful. But it is a good way to drive out from Brittany up to Barfleur. And there was evening and dark. This time it was sometimes the first thing I drove this road so when I came to a roundabout in Dinan, so I did not know which direction to go from the roundabout.
So I was at the roundabout a few times until a Frenchman came with his chameleon. He jumped out and walked up to me and asked in English where I was. Barfleur I said. Va., a he. Barfleur I said again.
Do you have a folder, he said, so I can see where that is. We were now two trucks in the traffic circle in the evening. And he looked at my map showed where I was Barfleur low. Aha, he said. No problem. Follow Me, he said, and ran off to his trailer and pulled at the full speed out of the roundabout. And I find that only seventeen. We quickly got out of the city of Dinan. But then he stopped and ran back to me and said he knew a nice little road. Maybe the police were on the main road and watch. What do I know.
Just follow me, he said. And then he pulled away again as the chips smoke on the asphalt. None of us had any load so it did go away. Then he turned into a little fucking narrow road that I had never seen before. There was barely room for only one truck. And there he ran for nearly a hundred. Wow, I thought. It was hard to keep up with the crap little gravel road. They were the jävligaste in a long time.
Had a cow stuck her head out, he had become cannon butchered on the spot. I think the road was barely three feet wide. Then it was bushes and shit after the pages rustled the pages as well. And away went the only phase. I have to keep up. Because I had never found out here on bölandet at night. I checked not map at all now. I followed a mad Frenchman. I wondered how this would end. But we came out on the main road again and I felt more comfortable. But the move, he took not on. It was now over 100. Up hill and down into the darkness. There was no highway here then.

Suddenly we came to a Crossroads with a restaurant on your right. I can believe that it could be a small village nearby called Pont-Parcy possibly Campeau. And there swinging Frenchman up in the parking lot. The time was about 12 at night. He shouted to me to park and accompany him into the restaurant. I locked the cab and hurry after him into the kitchen at the restaurant.

He shouted to them in there, hello hello. He was well known and so he cut a slice of meat of a big steak that lay on a table in the kitchen. Need he said. I hardly dared to accept because I did not know how he was. But then the owner out and greet us laughing. What an experience. Yes we got a little spontaneous extra midnight snack here on a nice jam south of Caen. The I'll never forget.
I was tired and then went out and put me in the now comfortable berth.
The sun was seeping in between the curtains and I understood that they were now tomorrow. I rang up and got the good famous chocolate-filled morning French bread served with a cup of good morning coffee. And then I hit a glance at the map and take a short cut down to Barfleur a small road.

So it took me and dragged on. One hour of driving around so I was there in the small village. And I find carrot firm almost immediately. And I could actually go back to the warehouse immediately.

The owner's wife came out and we talked a little about the customs documents. A very beautiful woman with dark long hair. Maybe in 40 years of age. A wonderful pleasant voice and a nice way.
I ask her if there was somewhere where I could take a shower. Ah, she said. No problem, she said. Get in the car here so I drive you there. Out here, all Frenchmen very proficient in English. She had a fairly new Mercedes car. For a moment I said. I need new clothes to replace with. Normally I have a thirty-changing underwear in a bag. So she drove off to a great big house that was very nice by the sea. Come here, she said and show me their fine facilities. Wonderful, I said. Take your time said the beautiful lady. A new nice bathroom with all facilities. Oh what I enjoyed in the beautiful warm water poured over my body.
When I finished and came down to the floor so had the wonderfully beautiful black-haired lady put out a whole table with delicacies. Help yourself to this, she said. I drive to the firm now they need me there, she said. So there I was left alone in the big house that was so wonderfully nice seaside out against England. Channel named it well. You can go back as the lady before she drove away. It is not far to go. No problem I said.
I sat and admired the fine views from the kitchen where I sat at the nice table settings. Before I went, I tried to pick away as much as I could from the table. It was hard to know what all would stand.

And no water

And I can see another thing

Something on this stone that I have to see

So I was ready to move me to the firm or whatever it might be. I walked toward the small harbor and saw a round sign saying that the Vikings were here and ravaged the 800's. They were fantastic I thought. They have my photograph, I thought. So I CLAP up to the truck that was being loaded to retrieve my camera. So the owner came up. The fine dark pain long black-haired lady's man. A little redhead witty one. I had never seen a red-haired Frenchman before. The first thing I said was that I have seen a sign that says that the Vikings have been here a long time ago. So I must have my camera to photograph it.

Yes I am the Vikings said the red-haired man and the ruffle of the hair. There, you'll see he said, laughing.
Is it really so I wonder. Yes absolutely. I am the direct descendant of the family with some Vikings from the ninth century, he said. Wow, amazing I said. Yes I must go down to the harbor and photograph the plate where I said. Yes, do that, he said. So the picture I have in my collection. I do not know if I also have the friendly red-haired man as well. It would be fun. It is possible that I took a picture of him too. Or the handsome dark-haired lovely lady.
But how could they fit together? How the heck has happened. Yes love has its strange turns this way and that. Such a beautiful stately woman. She was no longer a Him. Whatever I believe they had good times together. They looked so lovely out.
So it was with the carrots and the red-haired Viking of that wonderful little cavity Barfleur not far from Cherbourg. The carrots came home to Denmark and I got new hams to drive down to Brittany with. Or perhaps it was to England. Or Italy. It's a different story.

Inga kommentarer:

Skicka en kommentar