A Hobo Abroad

The thing about being homeless is no-one wants to talk to you. They stare a bit and they acknowledge you in their facial expressions, but those wrinkled brows are less a sign of concern for your welfare, more of disgust at having a smelly old bag lady in their town.

"Push off, this is my bus stop, I was 'ere first. G'ron."

So this was the day I had to check out of my hotel in Saint-Savin and wait. And wait. And wait.



I had my suitcase full of dirty clothes, my handbag full of receipts and, thankfully, a warm winter coat.

So I started on a stone bench in the car park. Then it got cold so I moved to a wooden bench a little further out where there was more sun. Then it got windy so I did a bit of dancing on the spot and walking round and round my suitcase. Then it rained a bit so I dragged my bags up the hill to the Intermarche. Which was closed but at least had a porch to shelter under.

At 3pm the Intermarche opened so I bought some food and took it back down the hill to the wooden bench. A street cleaner came past. Then it really started raining so I transfered to a bus shelter.

(If you're having fun reading this, just imagine living the thrills!)

Finally the telephone rang and I was told that my campervan needs a new ignition switch. "Well I've known that since Friday", I replied, "aren't we waiting for it to arrive?". No, apparently we were waiting to be 100% sure before making suchg a serious financial investment (a whole 15 Euros, dontcha know), so the garage was ordering it today.



The RAC man then said he was going to book me back into the hotel I'd been hanging around outside of all day. I wasn't keen. So now they've sent me up to a new hotel in Poitiers which has a bed and heating and WiFi and above all close proximity to Futuroscope! Something to do, woohoo!

I will not be a hobo again. Well at least not 'til Wednesday.