The morning dawns bright, but with angry red clouds on the horizon. Shepherds warning and all that. Scraggy chicken already pecking around, hoping for a few more crusts: I’d had some great conversations with her, about her diet and so on; and how she was too thin to go in the pot really. The goats, too, came over to see what was happening, as goats do. Sure enough, by the time I was ready to drop the roof and take the front screen cover off, the first large drops of rain had started, and the wind in the poplars at Bloemstraete already sounded like a force 8 at the beach.

The drive up to Gravelines was through heavy rain, the wipers keeping pace with the Penguin Café Orchestra on the sound system.

Having programmed in the wrong campsite to satnav, I arrived in plenty of time to realise my mistake, and take the extra fifteen minutes to the right one. The route had taken me past the port of Dunkerque, where a humongous container ship was sitting at berth. I’d forgotten too, that DFDS still run a car ferry to Dover from here too. As usual, my anxieties about getting in and out were ill founded, the entry barrier code allows me in any time. I spent a little time plotting the venues on to a My Maps, just to get an idea of where it all is. I think I’ve got it now.

Yesterday, which I’d had no plans for, turned out rather well. During this whole autumn extravaganza, I’d not really gone out for a meal. Well, not out-out as Mickey Finnegan says. I noticed that there was a restaurant in the village, Le Table de Romain, mid-price French, Google said.

Walking in, yes, they could accommodate me. I spy a large portrait of Paul Bocuse, the doyen of French cuisine, proudly displayed. Now, it’s got to be a restauranteur who’s either very proud, or very delusional to display that, and not serve up something nice. Given the chic grey decor, nice seats and table sets, it had to be the first. Two very efficient ladies running FoH, who sat me in a corner next to a radiator, and took my anorak to hang up. I was advised, escargots, followed by the fish of the day. There were other options, but it sounded good; and a glass of house red to round it off. We discussed dessert, but decided a coffee would be wiser given the sugar content of the ice cream.

I have to say, it was worth the wait, during the holiday. And it was the sort of lunch Rosie and I loved, back in the day. I promised to return and bring the family, or at least some of them. She gave me the restaurant card, and advised booking for such a large group!

Feeling well fed, strolled back and met a British couple, trying to book in with their nice panel van, on their first foray with it on a short break to Bruges and back. I got to chat later, and we compared vehicles (they’d had VW when the kids were at home, and now gone for comfort!). Turns out they are from East Kent, and are also members of the Camping and Caravanning Club. They had some really good tips about places to go in the Southeast, and how to make better use of my membership. Their suggestions on solo camping were really great. In turn, I was able to share my experience, such as it is, of French touring. They allowed me to ramble on, as I do, and were polite enough to say they enjoyed the chat. As I did. Hope we meet up on our travels.