France 1, The Journey

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We travelled from our home in Devon to Dover ferry port towing our trailer behind us, a long, hot journey. It was a Saturday, so the M25 wasn't as bad as on a weekday. We arrived early and decamped to the Duke of York pub for a nice meal. So far so good. On arival at the port we were instructed to join the Speedferries check in line (there are about 6 double lines for various car ferries). Speedferries is the last line on the right, with a chain barrier next to it. Felt rather smug as we watched people getting in the wrong line and trying to reverse back etc. But as we approached the check-in cabin we appeared to be heading to the wrong one. I leapt out and asked some cars in front if they were going on Speedferries, NO, we were in the queue for Norfolk Line! Panic! We couldn't cross to the right one because of the chain barrier and we couldn't reverse because of the trailer. Out I leap again, vault the chain barrier, death defying dashs between moving cars, elbow my way to the front and stick my head in the cabin. Hubby by this time has reached the Norfolk Line cabin. Everything stops, I can feel the eyes in the back of the head, glaring. We are instructed to pull over to the side and they will come out to measure us! Hubby meanwhile comes back through the barrier to the sound of loud alarms. Everything is eventually sorted and we proceed towards the boat. Husband now can't find his sunglasses and thinks he may have left them at the check-in, looks everywhere. Oh dear, no he hasn't, I'm sitting on them! What a good start, we are now completely frazzled.
Speedferries boat is pretty basic, which is what you would expect. But the food trays are grubby and the back-of-the-seat tray is broken. One hour later we are in Boulogne and heading down the motorway intending to stop the first night at an hotel just to break the journey. At around 5.00 p.m. we pull off the motorway and proceed to the nearest town looking for the hotel. "Sorry sir all the hotels are fully booked because it's festival week". Groan. Next town - everywhere full up again. Travel to the next village, no hotel. Ask at the garage where the nearest one is. Kind man draws us a little map with symbols and lots of little round balls. Crawl around for ages, but can't find it. He's having us on isn't he! Two and a half hours have now passed. Remind myself never to listen to husband again when he says "No we don't need to book a hotel, there will be lots of them" We decide we will have to camp at the first site we come to. Hurray! A camping sign! Miles later, up a hill, and out in the forrest we arrive at Camping Le Bel Air in Louviers, and it's very nice. Two hot, tired grumpy Brits struggle to put up the tent, something we don't like doing just for one night. Collapse immediately on our bed and are unconscious fast. Tomorrow will be better! (Won't it?)

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