Love a Happy Ending Lifestyle Magazine August 2013 | Page 58

Saint Savinien Sur Charente, France
If food is the true religion of France, La Santé is the theology. One hears rumours of dirty
tricks and wrinkles unknown to us Anglo-Sacks of spuds. My mission was to infiltrate behind
their lines and into their kitchens to see what keeps these armies marching on their stomach
free conquest. I hoped to emerge with a new Entente-Cordiale of lean cuisine. Not
everything works out first time. We set out on a sortie.
Being a believer in determinism I have to accept that since my birth and the first design
concepts of the cross-channel ferry “Bretagne”, I had been hurtling towards a moment of
destiny. Ahead of us lay a starry night, our traditional Earth moving kiss on the deck as
Angleterre slipped away to the north and a hairy Frenchman in orange overalls spraying
water with a hose. As we crossed the heli-pad my leg folded under me with an agonising
pop. As I lay felled by the French like Admiral Nelson at Trafalgar, I began to wonder how
the crew of the rescue helicopter would be able to reach me on the treacherous gloss
painted skid pan deck. I guess they carry a good supply of crutches. I knew that my trip
home to France was not to be. Oscar cajoled and dragged me to the cabin and we
summoned the nurse. She found the solitary ship’s ice pack which I think had been a left
over from a close shave with an iceberg.

On arrival in France my leg resembled a black blue and
green mottled snake that had swallowed a football. Our
home lay 300 miles to the south and I could not bend my
leg. We decided to keep me on ice in the cabin (they
pickled Nelson in Brandy – but I did not think that Brittany
Ferries would supply a barrel) and go back to the UK
where we live a few minutes from the port. As a Brit I can
get medical attention in the UK without complication and
a long stay in a hospital miles from any home lacked
appeal.
If you really want to feel insecure – plonk yourself in a
wheelchair as a captive patient. The following afternoon as we approached the shores of
Britain, my partner Oscar decided to take me out for a spin. Watching paralympic sport on
TV had obviously inspired him into some kinda wheelchair sprint fantasy accompanied by