That Sinking Feeling.
For some reason, we had decided to take the ferry back to the UK. Less driving, cabin, meal on board...a bit like a mini cruise? We were taking the van so that Anna, my wife, could buy a few things to bring back (in my mind I was thinking a jar of Marmite and a packet of bacon, how wrong I was). We were also dropping off 43 bottles of French wine to some friends who had recently moved back to the UK, and struggling to adjust to British prices. We found ourselves killing time in the very up market town of Marlborough (the ferry having dropped us off at 6.30am - we were awoken by three refrains of some soothing lute music piped over the tannoy). Anna had bought a furry coat from Noz, but the English climate didn't seem to agree with it and the thing had started moulting on her all black outfit. We tried to purchase a de-fluffer from Waitrose, but had to settle for a roll of sellotape, which we wrapped round our fingers then patted her down. After delivering the wine a...