Homeward Bound

Ulysses went on his Odyssey, Hannibal crossed the Alps, Bilbo Baggins journeyed through Middle Earth. Me? I have been slagging back and forth to Calais for the past ten years in a Dacia Sandero.

Part of me looks forward to the journey; the excitement of what lies ahead, a frisson at the adventures waiting just over the horizon. But, when I hit the péage at Saumur, my heart sinks as the novelty wanes. Six hours, six long hours - Saumur, Le Mans, Rouen, Calais. I pride myself on an ability to do very repetitive, mundane jobs for a long time, but that journey pushes me to some very dark places...I-spy, Count the buzzards sitting along the side of the motorway, What number am I thinking of?

Sangatte. We could've moved to Sangatte...I hear it's very pleasant this time of year, only ten minutes drive from the tunnel. But, oh no! Anna, my wife, wanted to move halfway down France.

She tries helping out; she will put in a solid 30 minutes before I notice her driving with one eye closed, like Popeye; which doesn't fill me with confidence. So, recently she has taken on the responsibility of picking the music. In our last journey to the UK we went from Aerosmith to Roger Whittaker and everything in-between. Dean Friedman's Lucky Stars is a must for every playlist. When she sees me flagging, usually around Abbeville, I'll hear Dean singing 'And you can thank your lucky stars, that we're not as smart as we'd like to think we are', giving me that extra boost (about an hour), to get to Calais. Clever.

On our most recent trip we decided to break the monotony by stopping off at Alençon for the night, (two and a half hours north of Deux-Sèvres up the A28). Having enjoyed the Dentelle D'Alençon motorway station for several years we thought we'd venture into the town itself. Home of lace making and plastics, or that was what the signs on the péage autoroute informed us. Don't you love those brown signs across the network, it's like coming across an old friend on the side of the road...hello soaring bird of prey, hello wild boar in forest, hello man with camera, ...one sign has a picture of what looks like Gérard Depardieu in front of an historic building, but it's probably not him).

Wandering around the centre of the town, did we see so much as a Ye Olde Lace Tea Shop or Museum of Plastics - Experience plastic through the ages (like Futuroscope but with more plastic)? Did we heck.

As we sat in the town square discussing the grey clouds approaching over head, soaking up the ambience as well as a couple of glasses of red wine, the loudest clap of thunder I have heard exploded above our heads (it was akin to one of those French warplanes practising a bombing raid over our house... the ones that are so loud you crouch down). I've never seen so many people jump out of their skins, I experienced what I can only describe as an out-of-body experience as well as a loosening of my bowels, everyone grabbed their drinks, bags, children and sprinted to safety. It then chucked it down for the rest of the night.

After a large Moroccan meal, Anna and I were staggering back to our Airbnb, through the pouring rain, when a French police car turned on his distinct French siren, just as he was passing us. Jeez! My heart leapt for the second time that night. I was a man on the edge.

The following morning the sun had returned and my pants dried out. With renewed vigour we jumped in the car and headed north. You know when you are close to the Channel Tunnel as you pass a series of white bridges (about five) and at either end are metal cut-outs of sportsmen: golfer, fisherman, yachter, archer, tennis player, for some reason the final one has the characters from the Wizard of Oz. Game: can you remember the order of sportsman? Golfer, archer, fisherman, no tennis player...golfer, yachter, fisherman, archer, tennis player, Scarecrow, Cowardly Lion...Oh, it's a lot of fun.

And then you reach your destination...Tunnel sous la Manche. Thank the lord! We've arrived! I don't mind having to queue to pump in my booking number, I don't mind having to queue to get through French and the UK border patrol, I don't mind being pulled over and having a lady wave a magic wand over my steering wheel or a man with sticky tape dabbing my door handles...just to be greeted by the friendly people who work at Le Shuttle; the way they wave us on and off the train, smiling, I think 'do I know you?'.

Thirty five minute power nap as we glide through tunnel with handbrake on, in first gear...car windows and vents open, of course.

Then waking up...it was a bad dream, but now it's over. Hang on, we've still got the M20, M26, M25(via Heathrow)...Noooooo!