JUST A BIT OF NORMANDY 

260903: The drive up to Normandy was boring. No other word for it really, but at least on the autoroutes you can getitalloverwith fairly quickly. There was a great increase in the number of Brits' cars we saw, mainly SUVs, Mercedes and Saab convertibles with "cherished" number plates 'n' all that nonsense. (You know what I'm saying, man).

Amongst the few good things about French motorways is that there are information signs which tell you about the next four lots of services and which company is selling the fuel and at what price! Too much information you might say? At least if we had them in Britain I could have avoided the three (small) loads of bloody Esso which I had to buy on this holiday! Oh, the shame of it!

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

270903: Here's something I've only just, (021103), remembered: 

On that morning, dressed in my very comfortable open sandals, faded, (and moderately flared), jeans and the magic Nepalese shirt, some part of my head had slipped back into the early 70s. As I walked past a large mirror I really did ask myself, 

Who's the old guy with silvery hair? And he's wearing a shirt just like mine? 

I quickly answered, smiled and went to tell Jo.

Down the coast we went through several OK-to-pleasant villages and small towns, where on the beaches hundreds of people were doing fishy things. 

We were looking to do our "big shop" in Boulognes-sur-Mer. From the hill above the town we saw so much filthy black smoke that the port seemed almost to be on fire. We went to the first supermarket, a scruffy Intermarché on a very scruffy housing estate with mainly very scruffy shoppers.

We bought lots of wine, (well, lots by our standards), a long-handled shovel(!) and lots of food the like of which we wouldn't find in the UK. (We'd taken French and Swiss currency on holiday with us of course, and we'd paid for fuel, massive mobile phone top-ups, most of the campsites and trips, (like the Aiguille du Midi), with a credit or debit card, but we'd been given so many euros as wedding presents that we were still able to pay for the "big shop" with cash).

We loaded the shopping into the area underneath the back seat and brought the heavy awning bag forward to in between the front seats. Negotiating roundabouts became very interesting, but after a while I got used to the handling and the engine and transmission seemed not the least bit bothered by the very considerable extra weight.

We drove to the cliffs at Cap Gris Nez and Cap Blanc Nez. At the former we walked around the miserable wartime remains and at the latter we bought the French equivalent of a chip-butty. Hell! It was massive. And the fatty chips made us both feel sick.

The wartime stuff makes me sad and I find it hard to be interested though it occurred to me that the Germans would probably have been frightened by our "concierge", (although she can't always have been that fierce?).

One of those engraved diagramatic map-type thingies was at Cap Blanc Nez, but some lunatic had turned it west through about 50°.

Back at the site I asked the concierge whether or not I could pay our site fee with a Visa card.

No.

She inspected carefully every single coin I handed to her. After she'd refunded our large deposit, (for the card to operate the security barrier), I walked away with €3.00. We had no more real French money to our names. 

That night we listened to Whispering Bob Harris on BBC Radio 1. (All the main BBC stations were clearly audible and some English local radio).

About 11.20pm I phoned the show. (And it wasn't simple. To get some reception I stood with one foot on the portaloo and one knee on the edge of the sink,  stretched up as high as I could, craning my neck and phoned Bob's producer).

Where are you?

Normandy! We're in our VW Camper waiting to catch the morning ferry back to Dover after our three week honeymoon in Switzerland and France.

Will Bob do a dedication for my wife, Jo, d'you think?

Well, yes, if there's time.

[I added that about 10 years ago Bob had done a dedication for "the best 14 year old guitarist in the North of England", that the guitarist was now in a signed band, (and that I, or the guitarist, more like, had lost the recording I'd made of that dedication being read out].

I said to Jo, Well, there's bound to be time. The show doesn't finish 'til 1am and we've got quite an interesting romantic little tale for Bob to tell.

Jo was pretty embarrassed about all this fuss. 

At first.

Lots of dedications were being read out.

It being the only means of recording my dedication, I kept the video camera on stand-by. 

After a while we got into bed.

After a while I turned all the lights off.

After a while it got to 1am.

But the programme didn't end.

Bloody hell. We're an hour ahead of Britain!

After another hour, through very little of which Jo slept, the programme ended.

Never mind, eh?

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

280903: An early start, minimal breakfast and off along the coastal road to Calais. We passed the rather sinister-looking detention centre at Sangatte and rolled into the ferry port. We were very pleased to be directed straight onto a waiting ferry, despite our being one hour early.

For six hours we sped up the road all the way to Lancaster.

All photographs and text, unless otherwise stated, are © Neil Gunn. 

(As if you'd mistake Neil Gunn for someone who gives a damn?).

Next

Next

Well there isn't a "next", of course, but I thought I'd just mention that several e-mails about this trip have come our way already, and we'd be very glad to receive more.

We're thinking of going to Spain in the van next year. Any thoughts?

281003: Just booked the Dover - Calais crossing!

Neil Gunn, 251003.

To have got this far you must have enjoyed this trip. You might well enjoy these too: 

France, Sept 02    

The Little Welsh Trip - Jan 03    

The Big Sou'wester, March 03    

The Isle of Wight & 

The New Forest, June 03

The Cairngorms, Jan 04

Top