There were numerous sites dotted around the track, all with their own benefits and detriments. Our site was the other side of a general camping area. My heart sank as we started driving through the site, tents, cars, caravans all pitched in disarray wherever the camper had seen fit. It looked hot, dusty and not particularly hygienic as we passed through. There were some hastily erected, ramshackle eating places near the track we passed along, and despite arriving early for the race there were already queues for what I assumed were showers and loo.
I felt trepidation rising in me. How on earth was I going to survive this, more to the point was there any way I could get out of it? I worked through the scenario in my head: how to tell Ed, how to find my way home, not even really knowing where I was in France and without sufficient French to get me home even if I knew how to get there.
Ed must have seen my expression but chose to keep quiet. Not even the reassuring knee squeeze to alleviate the fears. This was terrible.
Through another gate and across a field of chaos and there in front of us was a high metal fence with orderly pitches marked out on the grass behind. I looked at Ed optimistically. If this was us it looked a lot better organised and if that was how they had arranged tents then surely there would be better facilities as well.
Reading my mind Ed confirmed, “This is us.” Then reminded me that “It’s private camping so only paying customers can get in. There is a bar and restaurant next to the track, private loos and showers and a courtesy bus that will take us up to the pits. We have stayed in other sites before but these guys are the best. They are also on the inside of the Porsche curve so a great position for watching the race, but noisy, obviously.” He was so excited it was infectious, and my momentary escape plans were put aside as we rolled up to the gates and showed our tickets to the security team.
The organisers had pitched us together – five pitches, backing on to five more, so we had room to create a central meeting space between our cars and tents.
The rain had helped to cool the air but the sun was out now and the temperature was rising, despite it being early evening. Thank goodness we don’t have to erect tents in this heat, I thought, grateful Ed had decided to spend the extra money to have a pre-erected tent. We unloaded our bedding, blew up the mattress and made the bed, putting our bags in the entrance area and hooking open the ‘door’ to let some air in.
Even that was hot work and I made my excuses to go and find somewhere I could splash some cold water on my face before I melted in a pool of sweat – not a good look, trust me. To my surprise and delight, the facilities were just as good as Ed had promised. They were spotless and even better they were both labelled as either ‘male’ or ‘female’, so no sharing (not literally) required. And better still, there were no queues.
Having cooled down I took a quick look around the rest of the site. Again to my relief there was a large bar and restaurant in a sturdy marquee. Clearly the catering was going to be good, looking at the large menu boards suspended from the walls. This was going to be a lot better than I had feared.
I went to the bar and ordered five large jugs of ice-cold lager and twenty plastic glasses. Having paid I realised there was no way I was going to be able to carry all of this back to the group. Luckily one of the barmen could see my dilemma and offered to help.
I was met with a cheer as I arrived, laden down with the nectar of the gods. The tables and chairs along with a sound system and speakers had been set up under a gazebo in the middle of our pitches, and we laid out the drinks. The barman returned to his duties, and we all sat down to enjoy the lager as I passed around the sun lotion and mosquito spray for everyone to make use of. I realised that I had both proven myself a good addition to the group but I was also in danger of being seen as a parent. Ed dispelled that by leaning over and passionately kissing me to cries of ‘oi-oi’ from the lads.
It was a hot evening and we descended on the restaurant for a two-course meal and a lot of lager, all of which we enjoyed in the ‘beer garden’ – numerous tables, chairs and umbrellas that filled the space between the marquee and the race track where a practice session had got underway.
Whilst the facilities had been much better than anticipated, the noise emanating from the track just feet away was far worse. It was not just the volume, it was also that it reverberated throughout my body. This was going to be another sleepless night with Ed but for very different reasons. Clearly in a tent, surrounded by friends and only a very thin piece of material between us, nothing like that was going to happen. Apart from the lack of privacy, the heat and the blow-up mattress also acted as a barrier to any joyous unions.
That said it was still hard to curb the passion. But, given the circumstances, a long passionate kiss had to suffice and we reluctantly pulled apart and, after a long and tiring day, fell into a deep sleep.
I woke in the night in need of the loo, but it was still dark outside and I was worried about walking across the site in the dark and whether I would be able to find my way back to the tent.
I tossed and turned for a while hoping I could hold on until dawn.
Ed must have sensed how uncomfortable I was and put his hand out to touch me, asking, “Are you okay?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I, well, to be honest I need the loo and I’m worried I won’t find my way back,” I confessed sheepishly.
“That’s okay,” he said, reaching up to turn on the camping light. “I’ll come with you.”
We picked up a torch and left the light on in the tent. We held hands as we picked our way along the temporary track between the rows of dark tents. The ground was damp from dew and dawn was starting to creep over the horizon. All around us the dark structures and sounds of snoring created an eerie atmosphere as we headed towards the lights in the main complex.
We were not the only ones in need of the facilities. We nodded and said hushed ‘hellos’ to our fellow campers as we passed.
The long weekend may not be the most physical of our relationship but it was already turning into one of the most romantic.
Later that day, after showers and a hearty breakfast, the group split up, deciding on different activities for the day. Having arranged to meet later at the bar, Ed and I headed up to the pits. It was a long, hot walk. We had foregone the free transfer in the campsite minibus. Having spent the day before sitting in the car we both felt the need to stretch our legs.
Sensibly I had brought a large-brimmed hat to protect my head from the intense sun, but beneath it I was sweating horribly. I dreaded the moment I would have to remove it, but for now it was serving its purpose.
We walked among the crowded pits, often little more than canvas tents strewn with car parts, tools and fold-up chairs. Some of the better prepared ‘garages’ included fridges and coffee machines. There was a hub of noise and excitement as mechanics, drivers and fans mingled together in the cramped space.
Ed would periodically stop at a tent and point out a car, telling me about famous drivers it had carried or races it had won. There were cars of every shape, make, colour and age spanning the motoring eras.
On several occasions we were hustled out of one of the pits as cars thundered into life and made their way out to the circuit for practice or qualifying. Then we were hurled together in the cramped space between fans and temporary buildings. Whilst others moaned, barged and swore, Ed and I took a moment to enjoy our close proximity.
By midday I was starting to flag. Neither of us felt hungry due to the large breakfast and the heat, but a cold drink was definitely in order.
We made our way up to the main avenue of shops – Porsche, Aston Martin, Ferrari, designer labels, all tapping into this captive market, selling their branded products to the enthusiastic fans.
We found a bar and I ordered two lagers in my pidgin French – “Deux bières, s’il vous plait.” My accent was terrible but it was enough to get us what
we needed. To my delight the drinks were served in sturdy plastic, branded pint glasses.
“Souvenirs,” I said to Ed as we took over occupation of a couple of simple metal chairs and table under the shade of a tree as the previous customers gathered up their belongings, revived and ready to move on.
The heat, the lager, the noise, the smells, the sights… For a moment my head swam and I had to hold onto the edge of the table to steady myself, even though I was sitting.
We treated ourselves to another cool lager before gearing ourselves up to make our way up to the top of the circuit and the Dunlop Bridge. It was quite a climb, with high steps to get over it, but once on the other side there was plenty of room to stand or sit, if you didn’t mind the dust and dirt, and watch the racing.
We were there some time, watching the session and those around us of course, before the heat, the lagers and the walking made us feel increasingly sleepy. We headed back to camp, again declining to take the bus, ending up back at base a hot and sweaty representation of my former self. Luckily Ed had not fared much better.
We took our fold-up chairs to the gazebo and put them up in the shade. There were already a couple of the lads under the awning. We slumped down in our chairs and before long were knocking out zzzz’s like the rest of them.
I woke before the others. Our numbers had swollen whilst I had been asleep and I was hopeful they hadn’t heard me snore. Judging by the noises emanating from the sleeping giants around me I would have been in good company if they had.
There was a slight, but warm breeze wafting through the gazebo and I risked removing my hat before everyone awoke. I shook out my damp, lifeless hair, hoping the heat would work its magic. I must look a state, I thought, doing my best without makeup, hairbrush or a mirror to make myself look at least halfway decent.
I jumped and let out a small yelp as a hand tugged at my arm. Ed was still slumped in his chair, but his eyes were open and his hand rested on my arm.
“You look beautiful,” he smiled, clearly aware of my vain attempts to make myself look less like the messy monster that I felt.
I smiled back. “And you look handsome,” I said as I leant in to give him a kiss, nearly toppling over our flimsy canvas chairs. We laughed and in the process woke some of our sleeping companions who were slowly coming to.
As more woke up we started chatting about what we had been up to, sharing good things to see, like the pits, and where was best to watch the action.
As we chatted, more of the group returned in dribs and drabs, all hot but enthusiastic about their experiences that day. At some point after the sun crossed the yard arm the music system was cranked into life and lagers arrived from the bar to quench our thirsty, dry throats.
We were having so much fun that we almost forgot to have dinner. At the last minute someone pointed out that food might be a good idea and we all piled into the marquee for a slap-up two-course meal washed down by the inevitable jugs of lager.
After eating we took a healthy supply of jugs back to our central gazebo, turned up the volume on the music and sat around talking and laughing. There were some incredibly entertaining people in the group and conversation never waned or got boring, it bounced around, jokes were made, not least at each other’s expense. I contributed little to the banter, but I soaked up the atmosphere and enjoyed the company.
It occurred to me that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun. The last time I had got completely and utterly captivated by the moment. The last time I hadn’t thought about removing myself from life.
I didn’t dwell on any of that at the time. I was having too great a time and I didn’t think about it when we were dancing and a few other people from across the site crashed our free party. I didn’t think about it as Ed and I stumbled back to our tent some hours later. And I didn’t think about it as I crashed out on the mattress fully dressed.
It was in fact in the middle of the dark, still night that the thoughts started crashing into my brain, which woke me and prevented me from falling back into a peaceful sleep.
For a number of years before I met Ed I had been depressed. Not that I had been diagnosed, or treated, or even recognised it at the time, let alone talked to anyone about it, but I knew I had dark thoughts from time to time. Thoughts about not wanting to wake up the next day. It was not one thing that had led me to that point. It had been a series of somethings, sometimes big, sometimes small, events that each took their turn in sapping my strength. I started drinking more and more, not as a way to cope but as a way to forget. I didn’t drink every day and I didn’t always drink heavily, but I found excuses to drink – I had a good day, I had a bad day, it was the weekend and so on.
If I was not drinking too much then I was overindulging in food. I was trying to fill a hole, a cavernous, gaping emptiness.
The eating and drinking excesses didn’t affect my work, but slowly I realised that I had a problem. It was not until Ed came bounding into my life, a rejuvenating breath of fresh air, that the thoughts and then the drinking had subsided.
Yes, I was drinking a lot on this holiday and I still enjoyed a tipple, but I no longer needed it to black out the hurt. Now I just drank with company and for company but no longer without company.
Back in the dark days, when the abyss took over, I had wanted my life to end, but I never intended to do anything about it. I just hoped I wouldn’t wake up. I did realise that was a selfish desire. That millions of people wanted nothing more than to be well, to be alive, and here I was wishing for the opposite. In recognition I prayed to anyone who might be listening to take my life and spare theirs. I couldn’t see the point in life. I was single, never married, no children. I just worked to pay my bills. There was no hope, no joy, no future and I struggled with that. How little I knew. Then I felt destiny was against me. But now, in that small, hot tent somewhere in western France, I prayed again, this time in thankful gratitude that my previous prayers had gone unanswered. I said thanks for whoever, or whatever, brought this amazing man into my life and for the joy and happiness he brought with him.
I lay on my side, smiling, staring at my miracle snoring in front of me. Slowly I let the peace overtake me and I fell back into a deep sleep.
Saturday was much like Friday. Ed and I had walked up to the pits again to see the bits we had missed the day before. We had been passing the Porsche shop and were surprised at the queue, so stopped a moment to see if there was a driver signing autographs or some special event taking place. When we realised they were handing out free Porsche flags we joined the throng to claim our prize.
The twenty-four hours of racing started at 1pm and we had found ourselves a good vantage point just below the Dunlop Bridge from where we could watch the madness get underway. Armed with our flags and a rapidly warming bottle of water we watched the first of the many races whilst the sun beat down on us.
During the brief lull between races we made our way back to camp – firstly on the free mini train that ran up and down the complex behind the pits and then transferred to the courtesy bus which took us right into the heart of our campsite, having decided to duck out of the heat rather than walk through it.
Despite the heat we avoided lager during the afternoon, not wanting to overdo it too early. We had taken some of the cafe’s plastic chairs to the fence on the edge of the site which was right next to the race track and watched the cars speeding past. Oblivious to who was winning, not really supporting any particular car or team, it was just thrilling to be so close to these magnificent machines.
Early evening we made our way back to our tent and changed. The gazebo was starting to fill up and conversation and music flowed.
Again the dancing went on until the early hours. Fireworks were being discharged from various campsites around the circuit and our music was competing with the roar of the races going on around us. No one cared though, we were having way too much fun.
People periodically wandered off to watch the night racing, mesmerised by the headlights growing larger as they approached and then after sharp braking for the corner, their red lights disappearing off into the night. It was electric, it was thrilling – the smell, the vibration, the sights all assaulting and invigorating all the senses. Under any other circumstances it could have been the forerunner to a truly passionate moment, but we were surrounded by hundreds of campers and so settled for holding hands and stolen kisses instead.
Saturday night was another sleepless night, not because of passion or haunting memories, but because of the noise. The only trouble with twenty-four hours of racing is that there is very little let-up in the action other than when the race finishes and the next grid lines up to race.
I woke as the sun rose and the heat in the tent started to rise to uncomfortable levels. Time for a shower, I thought and turned to tell Ed – only his side of the bed was empty.
He was not back when I returned from the shower, nor was he back once I was dressed and made-up.
I wandered over to the marquee feeling in need of a lot of coffee and some breakfast but he was not there either. I eventually found him asleep in a fold-out chair right next to the track, a couple of the others around him. Clearly they had decided to watch some of the night racing and fallen asleep. How they could sleep in the full sun and next to the track was anyone’s guess but here they were.
I bent over and kissed Ed on the forehead, wanting to speak to him, but at the same time feeling a little guilty at waking him. I hovered, no reaction, I waited some more. As I was about to turn and leave, Ed’s arm caught hold of me and he pulled me back down for a proper kiss. If it hadn’t been such an uncomfortable position I would have gladly stayed lost in his embrace, but as it was, it was hurting my back and I had to stand up.
I looked down at his sleepy face. “Good morning,” I mouthed, not wanting to wake the sleeping beauties around him.
“Good morning,” he said as he slowly stood to his full height and then pushed his arms hard and high above his head in order to stretch out his aching limbs. Clearly the chair had not been a comfortable place to sleep.
Loves Lost and Found Page 14