I am also Best Man for a dear old friend who’s getting wed in August, and under previous deadlines I was going to miss his Stag.
As luck would have it the big night was happening in Barcelona, sufficiently en route to be a justifiable part of the trip.
Needless to say, it is imperative I get there, simply because I love the fella and want to show him my support in the fine tradition of getting sozzled with the old pals from South Shields..
The problem is it is nine o’clock on Friday morning. I am damp, in Calais, apparently without a lift, while the boys are due to leave the great Spanish city on Sunday morning.
Put simply, I need to be in Barcelona in time for drinkypoos on Saturday night. No two ways about it.
But after 12 hours by the side of that road I'm having to give things some thought. I give The Thumb until 5pm to yield a result, to no avail.
So, not wanting to sacrifice my Best Man duties, I was forced into a painful decision - to abandon The Thumb and take a train from Calais to Paris.
That achieved, there were 37 minutes to hare across the city and catch a second Barca-bound overnight train, which we boarded with a few seconds to spare…