It was as simple as driving to Folkestone, flashing our passports at a seriously un-interested french customs officer sitting in a little booth and boarding the channel tunnel train.
Onboard the Chunnel Train.
Thirty five minutes later you drive off at Calais and head into Europe. Importantly remembering to drive on the other side of the road.
Bon Jour France.
Tomorrow we are departing English shores for the continent. We’ve had a fantastic time with Gill and Andre and the kids who have really looked after us. We will miss them terribly. The good news is that we meet up with them again in July in Tuscany for a week.
Poppie making sure she isn't left behind.
Heading south means taking our car – the mighty Peugeot 308 wagon – through the channel tunnel by train and then driving south to Lille where we will spend the night. From there it’s a bit of an adventure until we get to Tuscany sometime later in the week.
Blog post regularity may suffer a little depending on access to the interweb, but please keep watching.
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Something for the lads. Woburn Abbey hosts an annual car show which draws entries from all around Britain. This year my mate Andre and I attended. Andre owns a pristine Triumph Stag (pictured in the slideshow) and as we drove … Continue reading
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Jean and I have just compared photos we have taken. Mine all seem to be of places and things, hers are of people. Attached are two of us – on the River Cam at Cambridge and in the local after … Continue reading
The papers the day of the wedding.
Well not really. That wedding is on and the whole country has been given the day off and intends to make the most of it. The team at Peers Drive, Aspley Guise are heading to the local village of Woburn (in the shadow of Woburn Abbey) to watch the wedding at the Black Horse pub.
The pub had gone out of it’s way to make people welcome and when we arrived it was full of locals – some dressed in their best frocks and hats or Sunday suits – watching proceedings on the big TV mounted in the corner of the bar.
Jean explaining the nuances of the dress to 11 year old Josh.
Once again the English proclivity for patriotism and pomp and circumstance meant the whole pub joined in to sing Jerusalem and God Save the Queen.
Union Jack flags, hats and bowties were handed out to anyone who wanted to look suitably silly. And the plastic tiaras went down a treat with our ladies, as did many glasses champagne, of course.
The lads tended to show their support for the wedding from a distance – the length of the bar to be precise – and marked significant milestones in the ceremony with a series of celebratory pints.
Locals enjoying the show. Although the Queen Mum doesn't look too happy.
We ended the day with lunch at the pub and then home for endless TV replays and a wee sleep on the couch. Lovely.
Footnote: apparently 23 million Britons watched the wedding which, by my calculation, is about 1 in 3 people in the British Isles.
La dolce far niente 