We’re doing no more than biding our time before tomorrow’s crossing. Edging bit by bit further north.
Currently “cramped” up with a multitude of other MOHOmers, all itching to get through that chunnel tomorrow morning. Site bursting at its seams like an overfed Worzel Gummidge. We’re in spitting distance of the beach. But tonight is not the night to try that. A northerner is howling outside.
A relatively easy journey planned for today. Escalles our target. It’s got its own equivalent of the White Cliffs of Dover, but without Vera. We can even see those from here. Obviously joined at the hip long before the channel came along and separated the spuds from the caulifleurs.
This morning, after two “Route Barees”, we were on a hat trick. Would we be disappointed? “Non”. Whereas on our last trip we’d get all wound up and agitated, like the washing in a 1960s twin-tub, today we reveled in it. Even though they added considerably to our journey time. We really felt the “welcome home”. If that wasn’t enough, Little Missy, our Ozzie Co-Pilot, forgot to do what we employ her to do. A brand new super route through oceans of farmland ignored. She didn’t know it was there. Seems the GPS road numbers she was adhering to hadn’t yet been updated. Previously, if we’d have been taken down this track, the air would have been less than rosy. But today, it was one long hoot. We couldn’t wait to see what was on the other side of the horizon.
