Home
Almost home.
But first you have a take a last long deep breath of fresh sea air before following the rest of the herd, down the hot stuffy stair case with the faint smell of vintage vomit, down the bowels of the ship, to the car. Then the long wait begins. It seems like hours. It actually is. You thought you had arrived, having seen the ferry docking. You haven't. Not yet.
You are still staring at the arse of that black BMW 325i in front of you, the one with the young couple that look so much in love, with no kids, no roof rack and hardly any luggage. You know the back of their car so well, you spent hours stuck behind it in Holyhead, in the car park and in the procession onto the ship. You are still staring at it now, while the kids start getting nuts because they too thought that we had arrived and they manage to have even less patience than the adults and the novelty of being in a car stuck on a deck below sea level in wearing thin...
You'd happily swap one or possibly two of your kids for a BMW 325i with no roof rack...
Then some bastard in a blue Lexus 300 (it's always a blue Lexus 300) thinks that he has spotted some movement ahead and starts his engine. Everyone immediately joins in.
But not you, oh no. You are ferry-savvy. You know better. You do not start your engine until the cars in front of you are actually moving. But at the same time you pray that the engine is going to start first time, as your wife is already asking you why you do not start the engine, that the all others have all started their engine, and the kids are both crying on the back seat because you may have slapped them in the heat of the moment.
At last the grey Polish sailor (grey from inhaling all this carbon monoxide from all these premature engine-starters twice a day) waives in your direction, and it's time to drive down the ramp and out of the ship.
Just in time for the Dublin rush hour.
Home!
Almost...
PS: Just changed the photo now. I had another 20 shots of this scene in the next folder, that I forgot to download...
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