France 111 - Neufchatel en Bray/Camping St Claire/an economic migrant and daisies

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Our last evening in France ended. Before we retired for the night we noticed our neighbours - the same Belgian couple who parked opposite us last night. Tonight they did not have the luxury of parking over a number of plots . They were taken to their plot by our bike riding campsite owner. They did the usual tour of the campsite with their car. They got their bikes out and did the same. It appears that they have a pattern they follow and follow it they did. We slept well that night .

The night was dark. The sky clear and full of beautiful stars. We woke to darkness. It seems dark here in the mornings all the time. What will it be like when when we arrive at home and the clocks go back one hour? Pitch black I guess. We slept well and woke early. Still darkness surrounded us. We ate in the dark, we unhooked Suzy from the electricity in the dark, we put up the step. We checked everything was closed/off/or left on depending what they were and set off. We left the lovely Camping St Claire in the darkness. We will be back. Why not come back to a lovely campsite that has everything apart from the swimming pool. Le Clerc was asleep . Supermarkets don't open until 9 am and we would be long gone by then. Neufchatel was asleep . Asleep apart from the 7 am bell that tolled on and on. Not just 7 times to chime the hour but it felt as if it were calling the faithful to prayer.

We arrived on the motorway within minutes and headed for the Tunnel sur La Manche. Signed you cannot got wrong. The motorway was empty as we passed Bologne to our left. It felt cold. It felt like going home. We saw one economic migrant on our way home. He walked the motorway on the hard shoulder as we call the emergency lane in Britain. In France the band d'urgance. As he walked he did not look dirty. He did not look as if he slept rough night after night. Where did he get his food? Why was he heading this way and not being picked up by the gendarmes. At home he would have been monitored by close circuit tv and the message relayed to the police that he was breaking the law and walking on a motorway. Within minutes they would have been there having also been alerted by drivers ringing 999. However here he walked quite freely in the direction of Calais . No doubt to join the hundreds at the Jungle Camp and in no time he would be trying to stow away on a lorry or trying to walk through the tunnel. He probably thinks the streets of London are paved with gold. If he ever makes it he will learn the lesson the hard way that it is not.

We arrived at the tunnel early. One and a half hour early. The machine did not recognise our van number so I had to get out and tackle the ticket machine. Armed with the booking form I was buffeted by the high winds and shivered in the cold. I pressed the number pad. Not the usual ones with the number clearly marked and easily punched in. This one is behind glass and is touch screen. I pressed the first number 3 - nothing happened . I tried again - not a thing. I then moved my finger down to a position halfway between the 3 and the 6 and it worked . On the screen up popped a three . I tried the second number - 3 same again. Three attempts before I got the right position. It took a while to get all numbers in, to tick the confirmation it was indeed me inputting the booking and the machine offering me an earlier time to cross . Did I want it? No extra charge. Of course I did. Pressing yes it spewed out my ticket hanger and we headed off to the french customs. They took our passports and with a cursory glance waved us to the bigger queue at the British passport control. Eventually we got to our parking. Not in front of the shops in the Charles Dickens centre but at the side. M were boarding . We were N so not long to wait. Before we had time to go out and switch the gas on N came up . We were boarding. We joined the queue at our last stop where we were asked if we had switched our gas off and told to go to lane 4 where we waited to board the train.

The green light came on and nothing. No-one moved . As we had a van in front of us we could see nothing. We waited still nothing. Why were we not going anywhere? I could see Daisy van. A hippy van of unknown age driven by a hippy with long greasy hair. He too was of unknown age. He got out of his van, walked around the side, opened his locker. He removed a tool kit and with all the time in the world he started doing something. What that something was we will never know. We have thirty minutes to get to the train and load up. We still were going nowhere. Eventually he moved . We got within sight of the train. He stopped again. More waiting while he fiddled with his van. In the end we did board two vehicles behind him. The young guard placed the metal holders in front of Suzy's wheels, we opened the windows half way down and put the van in first gear. The safely messages droned on - the dulcet tones of John Humphreys the newsreader telling us what to do if there is a fire in the train. We must have heard this many times in both languages and can recite it by heart. Then off - I wish they would have a display that tells you how fast you are travelling, where you are and show your progress. It is all guesswork as there are no windows apart from tiny ones at low level. You see nothing through them as the tunnel is in darkness. We were entertained by the driver behind playing his guitar. We listed the chef de train telling us that we were off , that we would arrive shortly , to remember to put our clocks back an hour and to remember to drive on the left. We are home. Kent here we come. M2 and the long drive to the M25. Under the Thames via the tunnel . Up the M1, dinner of Cornish Pasties in a motorway service station. At some point after stopping for lunch we passed the Daisy Hippy again.

As we arrived home the feeling hit us. PMT - Post Motorhome Travelling. We felt the cold . T shirts exchanged for long sleeved shirts, jumpers and coats dug out. I even considered gloves and scarves. So cold it felt. The curtains twitched across the road. Ah they thought "They are back!!!!!" We won't get our view across the garage now that the darned van is back. We fooled them. We parked Suzy back up on her old spot behind the laurel hedge. She won't move for a while. Tyres can wait.

Week 1 back - Tyres still waiting. Dark mornings and equally dark nights. Cold rain and what feels like miserable Autumnal weather. After a week we get a message- send invoices for the habitation checks. Why the heck do they need both the sheets that show the checks and the dampness levels and the bills? They are going now to Swift . We will have to wait for a reply. Fridge 2000 pounds to replace .................what ?????????????? Surely not . We know the cost of a new one delivered to our house. Even with the £34 delivery charge it comes to less than a £1000 . What are they fitting? A gold plated singing all dancing fridge. More phone calls to other dealers. No doubt we will still be sitting here next week waiting. We are now done to mundane things. Carpet ordered and back to work. Order put in for 28 days off in April/May and again in September. I wonder if I will get them?

As I sit here rattling round the empty large house it feels odd. Over 4500 miles of travel the holiday is over . Tao Te Ching said in one of those proverbial thought provoking sayings that " If you realise you have enough, you are truly rich" You cannot but agree with the sentiment but I must be greedy, I loved my holiday, I am enriched by travel and the folks I meet and the places I see but I want more.

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