Once again Willma and I have crossed the Channel, not over it but under it, with all the usual anxieties. Would the campsites be full? Would my French be embarrassing? Will the van be reliable? What had I forgotten, like the toilet bag I’d left in Lancaster? I’d left the back door unlocked on a previous trip, so carefully made sure it was done; the windows all latched, heating set to Holiday mode, water off. Gave the cheese and tomatoes to Ken & Mary next door; left instructions for the offspring on alarm settings, and set off for Folkestone. Got there early, so had a breakfast baguette at the service station. It wasn’t pleasant. The tunnel was running behind, but I got an earlier crossing, and arrived in France before I expected.

Running down the autoroute gives you plenty of time to think. Like how I’d left half a bottle of milk in the fridge, and three apples in the fruit bowl. All prohibited EU imports; but all with the potential to develop a new culture in my absence. I WhatsApped the family group. I think it’s those hours on the road that allow the blogposts to ferment, and turn into the wine, or vinegar, of these posts. And once again I had to give myself a stern talking to, or thinking to. If been doing this for years; I really do know the score. Though it is reassuring to get the short emails from campsites and layovers. I did message M.Henri Mutin to ask whether it would be OK to stay on his farm, and to try his sparkling wing with a view to purchase. Apparently he’s an early riser – of course, he’s a farmer/vigneron.

I arrived at the first camping pretty much on time, even given a stop at a service station for some meat and dairy, and a pasta salad. That wasn’t particularly nice either, but better than lunch. The impulse buy of little baton sausages, however, always hit the spot. The receptionist, sporting a West Ham United sweatshirt, was friendly, and helped me when my French collapsed. Always tricky when you’re tired, although pleased that mostly I was quite fluent, and understood her when she slowed down a bit.

This is a lovely campsite, and very popular as a transit camp on the way south. My immediate neighbours were Swedish: “I’m sorry, I don’t know the Swedish for “Good Evening'”. “It’s ‘Hey!’. “I should know that , I’ve been to IKEA!”. Whoops. The toilet block is something else. Everything, except the loo, works off proximity sensors, including the shower. Tricky if you get too close while drying off. Ask me how I know.

Having made my cup of tea, I decided I’d follow my usual policy of making friends. I’d spotted a white VW Cali across the field, near the river, so I wandered across. They were just finishing dinner; but seemed happy to chat Heather and Paul from Nottingham were also on their first night in France, heading off via Colmar and Switzerland on a six week trip, probably to Italy eventually. We had a chat about the price of the Mont Blanc Tunnel, (€50 a pop, which I’d heard from our Matt) and alternative routes over the passes. Nice people – they seemed OK with me giving them my life story, and not asking much about theirs. As VW owners do, we compared notes: it’s an easy ice-breaker.

As the sun dipped, the night became quite cool, though I was warm under the duvet. Just getting up to the loo was chilly – I was glad of the 500W fan heater, just to take the chill off. Notes powerful as the diesel heater, but less noisy, and less smelly, for the neighbours. When I woke after a fitful night, it was 8deg outside, and down to 13deg indoors. Camping, eh?

Today is a public holiday, for VE Day, but Carrefour supermarket was open in the morning, so stocked up with cheese and stuff, fruit and nuts, wine, salad, but forgot the tomatoes – I was going to make for lunch. Had to settle for a Salade Perigordine, walnuts and Rocamadour cheese. with a glass of red, well settled for a relaxing nap. Chatted to a pleasant Dutch birdwatcher, doing a tour of reserves, and lent my hammer to a French Motorcycle Camper and his pal. In French! Went for a walk round the site, just to stretch the legs: turned in and got 8 hours sleep. I’m starting to find a groove.