It’s like Rouen all over again.

It’s seven o’clock. I send a text to Steve to ensure he got the train.

“Only just. I was up at four thirty. Started walking ten minutes later. Had to run the last 10 minutes.”

“Have you found the navette shuttle bus?”

“No. I’m in Limoges. Can you tell me where it is.”

Now, I know that Steve and I don’t do directions well. I, according to him, am rubbish at navigating. He, according to me, is rubbish at following directions. He gets me all flustered because he’s in a foul mood and I end up thinking: “Sod it. Find your own way.”

So, I give the best, most clear directions I can.

“Go outside from the main entrance, so you’re looking at the main square. Then follow the building round to your right. This is the left if you’re looking AT the building. You should see a tower at the end of the building. Go round the tower following it to your right. *I can’t say ‘go round…’ that could mean anything to Steve, apparently. I’ve learned this from last time* and then you will see a lift going up to the platforms, four disabled spaces and a sign that shows your car will be towed. The bus stops here.”

Thanks Google Earth. You’re a life saver.

He does as I say. He then phones me.

“There’s no bus stop here.”

“I know. The shuttle hasn’t been running for long.” I’m making excuses for France here, for the airport, for the train station and all types of transit.

“There’s old people sitting down. None of them looks like they’re going to the airport.”

A huge part of me wants to say “It’s seven thirty. If you’d just learn french, you’d be able to ask them. But no….”

Instead, I say “Well, the shuttle will be there in 10 minutes. Why don’t you wait and see?”

He cuts me off, saying he’s going to find someone.

I hope he’s done what I’d do and gone back inside the terminal to ask. Turns out, he was tramping around looking for the tourist office. Apparently it’s badly signposted and he couldn’t find it. I know they’d only have said what I was going to say. Still, I can sense he’s getting to the end of his thin, thin hold on his temper.

He then sent me a text half an hour later to say he is back there and still can’t find it, having not been able to locate the tourist office. I tell him to wait and see what turns up at 10:15 when the bus is supposed to be there.

In the meantime, I’ve located the Limoges Airport website, found the link to the navette service, realised it’s an 8 seater mini bus and I’ve found a picture of it. It’s grey. I text him this information.

Moments later, the bus is there. He’s on it.

He’s going to be at Limoges Airport for about 5 hours. It’s small and boring. I’m sure he’ll be hyped up on coffee by the time he gets back.

And…. I know the worst is that Roy would have given him a lift, but Steve would rather do it HIS way.

I’m going to ban him doing things HIS way, when it involves me getting up at the crack of dawn to plough through the internet to find out where the hell he is.

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