It seems Tony also slipped my mind, telling me and enquiring about recent events, and about how some people are just 'mental' and you can never tell who. His prophesized homeless lady also turned up and sat next to me as I was engrossed in Patrick Leigh Fermor's epic wandering through the lowlands of Europe.
She sat for a good 15 minutes cracking peanuts staring solemnly at me. The Thai lady who seemed to run the place kindly filled my water bottle while I bought an overpriced tea to keep me slightly warm when the automatic doors created draft. It was possible that I appeared homeless or that I was a runaway and she offered me discounts on their foodstuffs. But I had to decline, to take advantage is surely against the 'way of the road'. I didnt want to be overly gluttonous if I could help it at all. I also believe Starbucks tea-bags are made of plastic.
A phonecall with Sam while I am still in the UK was a very welcome surprise and I told her I was safe, fed and moderately warm. It was strange to talk to her, knowing I won't see her for 4 months or so. I was sure she would cope fine, I know I would have be welcoming a break from myself.
Although I was grateful for not having to brave the night in my tent just yet, the service station definitely made for undesirable sleeping conditions; drafty, bright and noisy, with a smattering of semi-suspicious persons dotted around. I had been advised to head to the lorry-park around 5.30am in order to try catch them filling up on fuel and then hopefully heading for mainland Europe.
I let Hanna (my first arranged CouchSurf host) in Calais know via text that I wouldnt be arriving that night, but recieved no reply. I decided to try acquire a lift further South, towards Bordeaux.