I’ve found out that Trier has a French name, Trèves, both derived from the Treveri tribe that Caesar had a run in with. The camping had a goodly assortment of VWs, at least four of them red ones. And quite a few English people on site too; a bit of a transit camp. My neighbours, Marcus and Joanna, had bought their T6 at the start of Covid, as way of getting out of the house. Interesting people, Marcuse had the ability I envy, of being able to pick up languages easily, but it came with a side order of integrating with peoples accents, sometimes causing embarrassment. For a lad from Barrow, he’d developed quite a distinct Somerset burr. Joanna was an occupational therapist. She came up with a reason why I usually sleep longer in the van ( which I am, up to eight hours) and it’s to do with extra exposure to daylight, affecting melatonin levels. Sounds plausible.

Setting off, hit the road, with 5 ½ hours of travelling indicated: back through Luxembourg, taking advantage of their low fuel duty, then branching south through Metz and Nancy, autoroutes nearly all the way. With stops, it turned into more like eight hours on the road. It seemed like all three governments had decided on an extensive road resurfacing programme. Before leaving England I’d taken out a subscription to Apple Music, which turned out to be a godsend – my usual standbys of RFM and NRJ got tedious after a while, so my music downloads, and the playlist the algorithm created from that was quite good.

Châtillon sur Chalaronne is a typical municipal site, nothing special, but has all the necessary amenities. Across the way are a group of elderly French campers, about three couples who look as if they’ve been coming here for ages. They set up a banquet table and sat around talking animatedly for most of this afternoon. The town, too, is a typically French market town, complete with covered market hall. This isn’t, as I suggested, Beaujolais, which is the other side of the Sâone river; it’s an area called Les Dombes, in between the Lyonnais, the Mâconnais, and the Pays de Bresse.

The afternoons are warm, but the nights are cold: I’ve had to activate the heater in the morning, and there’s a heavy dew on the grass. In the night, feeling the chill, I got up and pulled the sleeping bag down from the pop-up bed. With the duvet as well, I was comfortably warm, and once again eight hours of sleep.

Day two at Châtillon was uneventful. I’d originally booked three nights so I could take part in a conference call with the Respiratory nurse team at Guys. Unsure of the quality of WiFi, I installed myself early in the biblioteque room, and managed to fire everything up. Some useful background, and more info on medications. Even a small mention of end-of-life options, glossed over almost apologetically. Lunch; finished the book I’ve been reading for the Labour Party book club; then another trip to Intermarche for supplies.

Tomorrow I’m heading further south, still not sure where. I’m aiming for the lower Rhône, but it confronts me with choosing exactly what I want. I’d like to be on a site with friendly and chatty neighbours, somewhere warm, maybe near water, where the wine is good, and within walking distance of a restaurant and a supermarket. Not all of these can be predicted from online reviews; so I might just take the option of booking one night as a taster. We’ll see.