Some years ago I decided to leave these shores and go to live in the Nederlands. I had a friend that was stationed there at a military base in the south in a place called Brunssum and he knew of a lady whose daughter had just got married and moved out and she was looking to take in a lodger so it all seemed ideal.
I remember telling my bosses at the time that I'd decided to head off to pastuers new and them both being remarkably supportive telling me that they'd be glad to have me back if they were still around when and if I got back. I was only 17 at the time, I'd just passed my driving test and I'd spent the previous summer at a Pontins holiday camp in Hemsby-on-Sea living with the lifeguard (the love of my life). We'd drifted apart since we had to come home and I wasn't all that happy about it so I suppose I was running away.
I booked to take a ferry out of Felixtowe and then the ferry man went on strike, so I tried to book a ferry out of Hull but again the strike was spreading so eventually I booked myself a flight out of Gatwick to Maastricht. This was you have to remember in the days before cheapo flights so I couldn't fly from anywhere close at anything like a reasonable price.
Did I bother to say that I made the decision to move on the Tuesday and I'd done all this booking/not booking/booking to fly by the Friday!
I asked my best friend Sarey to take me to the airport (which was a big deal for her at the time as she'd never driven to Gatwick) but she was happy to do so and assured my Mum that she could come along too. My Mum was convinced I'd never come back and it was all because of a broken heart (all together now ahhhhhhhhhh!).
I packed my life into a massive suitcase, put on the 3 layers of clothes that wouldn't fit in the case and strapped by skateboard to my back and practiced walking round the living room to make sure I'd be able to carry everything. I'd arranged that someone was going to pick me up from the airport so it wouldn't be too bad but I did need to ba able to move around the airport etc. We packed up the little VW polo and all three of us piled in for the journey, equipped with a map and driving directions.
To say this was a fogy morning would not be doing it justice, it was pea soup! We had allowed 5 hours for the journey even though it was estimated at 3. We found our way down the M1 and onto the M25 and though our progress was slow it was steady...... that was until the little car had a blow out! We got out, and unpacked the boot to get to the spare tyre.... which was flat! We called the RAC who to be fair got there in some reasonable time and loaded us onto a low loader. We still had 2 hours to be there and the taffic reports said that flights were being delayed due to the bad fog. We got off the motorway heading for the garage and the low loader had a puncture! We waited for another one! It picked us all up and took us to the garage. The men at the garage were very quick at changing the tyre... probably due to me jumping up and down and pleading with them that I needed to be at the airport.
We were back on our way with 3/4rs of an hour before my plane was due to take off. We got to the airport with 25 minutes to spare. Sarey dropped me & mum off and went to park. We ran through the airport looking for the check in desk... that took us 10 minutes and when I got there it was closed! My plane was one of the only planes that was on time and about to leave... I pleaded with the KLM desk but to no avail, the plane was taking off and I wasn't on it. They could get me on a flight to Schiphol that was leaving in 30 minutes, I paid the extra and tried to calm Mum down who was now totally convinced I shouldn't go, all the odds were against me and I could always re-arrange to go the following week. I was having none of it! Sarey had found us and tried to ease Mum's fraustration saying that I'd be fine, I always was. I had to run through the airport with all my luggage as the luggage had already been loaded so it would be put on at the gate.
I kissed and hugged the closest women in my life, asking them to phone ahead and tell my freinds that I'd got on another airplane to a different airport and I'd find a way to get to them once I'd landed and legged it!
A flurry of over-dressed mad girl pushing a trolley full of luggage with a skateboard strapped to her back, crazy curly long hair flying behind her doing warp factor 7 through the corridors of Gatwick with endless streams of sour faced business man and families going on threir holibobs looking behind her for the man with a gun!
I boarded the plane and they were waiting for me with a man to take my luggage to the hold. Everyone was already seated and I was after the captain and the walking wounded... I was also wearing 3 layers of my heaviest clothes as I'd been told it wasn't the warmest time of year in Brunssum... that could not be said for the plane. There was a huge round of applause from a group of men wearing blazers and looking like they'd been partaking of monumental amounts of alcohol... they had, it was a rugby team on tour. I took my isle seat in front of them and sighed as we almost immediately pushed back for take off. The rugby team recited the plane safety announcement along with the stewardesses and then ordered me a beer when they came round with the trolley. I decided that it was best to just relax and wonder what the hell I was going to do once we landed. This was the 3rd time that I'd flown in my life and the 1st on my own. I was flying to a country where they spoke another language (yes I know now that all Dutch people speak at least 5 languages but I didn't know that then) and I was going to be at the other end of the country than where I was supposed to be... with no mobile phone and only the number of my friend at work and my new house mate's flat... no address just AFCENT military base.
I noticed that the man who sat across the isle from me was strangely familiar but I just smiled and said hello and tried to work out who the heck he was.... As we were leaving the plane, he leaned over to me and said "Did you watch Howrds Way?" (a Sunday night ritual for me and my Mum) "Yes" I replied and then felt the colour rushing to my face as I realised it was none other than Tony Anholt who played Charles Frere. Internally I was dying, not only was he gorgeous, I hadn't recognised him and he was being really sweet. He stood talking to me as we waited for our bags and I recalled the events of the day, he laughed and asked what I was going to do... "I suppose I can get a train" was my answer. He assured me that the train station was only over the road from the arrivals department and that the trains were very good in Holland.
When my case arrived I asked him if he would mind watching it for a couple of minutes while I popped to the ladies and as he was still waiting for his bag (mine was obviously first off) he was kind enough to do so. I went to the ladies, took off 2 layers of clothes, pushed my fingers through my hair, splashed some cold water on my face and re-applied my lippy. I emerged from the ladies a different person and started laying my heavy clothes on my bag. "What happened to the rest of you?" said Tony just as an announcement came over the speaker system telling me to contact the main reception desk. "I've got my bag, I'll show you where it is if you like." I was very excited, I was being shown around an airport by a TV star... I got my mesage that I was to phone this number and Tony lent me some change to use the payphone. I called and got through to Lynne my new flat mate who explained that I needed to get the train to Sittard and she would meet me at the station. The trains ran every half an hour and I should be bale to get the next one in 25 minutes.
Tony showed me where the station was and gave me a peck on the cheek and wished me luck. I thought my knees were going to buckle and ran off to buy my ticket. I boarded the tarin with a big grin on my face and when the conductor came and checked my ticket I asked him where I should get off for Fittard (yes wobbly legs, mashed brain) to be told the train didn't go to a place called Fittard and maybe I should try Sittard instead, we would be there in 90 minutes.
I finally arrived at the station and got off to find a waiting Lynne who recognised me immediately (probably due to the skateboard and piles of luggage) and welcomed me with open arms, a big smile and a bottle of beer, which my friend had told her I'd be needing.
The rest as they say is history!
Travel on Friday the 13th..... after that... Why not?
The chalet was being run by two boys who were very helpful, brought me tea in bed most mornings and cooked us some great food. They were also (I think) taken aback with the exploits of a group of middle aged (middle aged to a chaleroony is anything over 30) ski bums who seemed to have a thirst for alcohol and partying that eaqualed any of their mates. 
