In the wee small hours of the morning

Today I booked our Eurotunnel passage for our trip down to the South of France. We’re saving mother from the grubby clutches of Ryanair and driving her home instead, using the motorhome as a removals van given the amount of stuff she wants to take with her (in her defence, collected over the course of a number of previous visits.) We’re booked on the 1.20am train. Yes, you read that correctly, am. I can’t remember the last time I was actually awake and conscious at that time of the morning...possibly when I was about 14. But not only is it cheaper to travel then but more importantly it allows us to drive through Paris when there’s hardly anyone about. We’ve done this very successfully before, only succumbing to sleep at Orleans, and it beats titting about on N roads and trying to find your way through Rouen (seven different routes to date and counting).

Of course, it also gives me a legitimate excuse to stop at the 24-hour Costa Coffee at Maidstone services where I’ll be ordering trebles all round – I’m normally not one to drink coffee after about 2pm but we’ll need something to get us through the wee small hours. And there’s something about driving with your bed in the back, it just seems to encourage one’s doziness and to invite you in with its alluring soft duvet and plump pillows. The three or four farting dogs in residence are less of an attraction, and MONTY, STOP LICKING MY PILLOW!