We had a target set-off time of 8am. The ferry didn’t leave until quarter past midday, and Dover is about an hour and a half from us, but this is what we do.

The trip to Dover was uneventful, and we arrived at Marine Parade at around 10am. There were already many motorhomes parked up, some of whom had come down the night before.

I took the opportunity of phoning SeaFrance, because whoever had booked the ferry back in November (me) had mislaid (not to say lost) the confirmation number. It didn’t worry me too much, because I had already checked that I hadn’t actually forgotten to book the crossing (as if I would), since SeaFrance had taken some money out of our account on the 2nd December. I knew I must have written the num,ber down on a piece of paper, but I seem to spend most of my working life writing things down on bits of paper, which subsequently get lost … errr … misplaced.

Anyhow, a quick phone call to SeaFrance confirmed our confirmation number, and I duly wrote it down on a piece of paper. I know, I know, a dangerous action, but this time I was putting somewhere safe – I gave it to Annie.

Back down on Marine Parade, we had a cup of tea, chatted a little with the MHF gang, and finally trundled off in convoy towards the ferry port.

For some reason, I hate this particular part of the journey. I couldn’t stand to be one of those people who wander off to the shops or something, leaving their vehicle, and then holding everybody up behind them. So I wait. Impatiently. Annie is happy to pick up a book, and quietly read, but I pace. I get out of the van, look around, get back in the van, listen to the radio, get out of the van, look around, and get back in the van again. My usual antics were punctuated this time being nearly being run over by a motorbike as I lined myself up to take an interesting (well, I though it was interesting) photo of the motorhome line.

On to the boat, and we were near to the back, behind Dave and Eddie (656).

The crossing was smooth and efficient, and we ‘convoyed’ off the ferry in Calais and onto the main road heading south.

We were avoiding the peage, to give some members (who had not driven in France before) an experience of ‘N’ roads. Stuck to the screen, Harriet (I’ve renamed her for 2007) was happy to punctuate our short journey with simple and explicit directions. I like Harriet. She’s much better than that woman from last year, who got in a strop every time we deviated slightly from her route.

About halfway to the campsite, the convoy rounded a roundabout, and turned into a Champion supermarket. We followed, and stole a march on the others by deftly finding a 1 Euro coin and a trolley, and entered the familiar French supermarket surroundings.

Loaded up with fruit, lettuce, and champagne, we strolled back to the motorhome, which was sitting all on its own at the back of the car park. The rest of the MHF convoy had already left, and were presumably nearing the campsite.

This didn’t concern us, and Harriet calmly showed us the way to Eperleques, and we followed the signs to Chateau de Gandspette.

The reception was empty and locked, but with a sign saying “Back in 5 minutes” (were they expecting English visitors, perhaps?), so we waited. And waited. We presumed that they were showing ‘our lot’ where their pitches were, so we waited a little more.

Eventually, even I was tired of waiting, but as I had my hand on the cab door to climb in and go and explore the site, a man appeared, apologising profusely, saying it was “school time” and that “the lady she gets her children from the school”. The school run is the school run all the world over, I guess.

I told him I was with the MotorhomeFacts group, and he smiled. A good sign. “You are ze leader?” he asked.

I was confused. Whatever I was, it wasn’t the leader, and the leader should already have been here. “The leader – he is here already?” I asked, in my best approximation of a Frenchman speaking English. “Non,” came his reply. How mysterious.

He took our names, and he gave us a map, highlighting the section of the campsite that he’d reserved for us all. So off we went.

The campsite is very nicely laid out. The pitches are large, and each pitch has electric to it. The only (slight) downside is that the whole of the campsite is on two slopes, so parking fore-and-aft on the pitch meant a severe sideways tilt. Nothing the careful application of a couple of bright yellow ramps couldn’t fix, although, being my first outing of the year, I didn’t quite get the fore-and-aft slight tilt correct. The collection of MotorhomeFacts personnel loitering around meant that I wasn’t going to be spending my usual 20 minutes getting the van inclination absolutely correct.

Once the engine was turned off, BognorMike approached to welcome us, as they had travelled over a couple of days previously to visit Bruges. The second person we saw was Russell, with Oscar in attendance, centre of attention.

After a short break, we decided on a cycle ride to get the travelling dust out of our heads. Watten was shown as a short ride away, so we headed in that direction. The road past the campsite was quite busy, but as always in France, car drivers were considerate.

We didn’t venture as far as Watten, but found the Champion that everyone else visited, and a Netto, and the navigable river Aa, which was reserved for a cycle ride later in the week. We ventured into the Netto (a bit like a downmarket Aldi) and bought some honey, which Annie likes.

Then it was back to the campsite, and we had a drink with Russell, discussing Italy and European motorhoming in general. Asgard (Bob) entertained us with his thoughts on motorhomes, RVs, and life until it got decidedly cold.

We woke early, and although we’d put the silver screens on the front, the van was very chilly, so we put the oil-filled radiator on. I think this evening might need the Carver heater. We used the site showers, Annie’s scoring an incredible nine out of ten, and mine around eight.

The fresh bread lady didn’t turn up (a later report said that the boulangerie was closed today, which would explain it – even bakers need a day off sometimes, I suppose), but we were all prepared with the bread and stuff we bought yesterday.

After our breakfast, we cycled to the Blokhaus. This is an enormous concrete monolith, built into the hills of Eperleques, and was to be a site for the creation and launching of the V2 rocket. The tour was an entertaining stroll around the grounds, with audio presentations at various points. It described the layout of the area, why the Germans chose it, and how it was constructed. Halfway through building it, the Allies didn’t like the look of it, and bombed it, the main damage being caused by US “Tallboy” bombs.

The Germans rethought their strategy, and began building again, this time using the “tortoise” principle, which meant that the 16 feet thick concrete roof slab was cast first, and then walls were erected underneath it. When the walls were set and could be load-bearing, the whole construction was lifted a few feet into the air, and the walls were extended downward. Despite heavy air raids, only superficial damage was done to the roof structure, and the building rose to around 100 feet in the air.

At this point, Hitler abandoned his plans for the V2, and the area was evacuated. The French kept the building, and have created a museum around it to “show man’s folly”. It’s a shame we don’t pay attention. As Goethe said “If we do not show the young the mistakes of the previous generation, they will make those same mistakes again.” Or something like that.

On our return from the Blokhaus, we just sat around. Annie read, and I spent some time with Stew, playing with Photoshop. Annie eventually sought me out, and we shared an amiable bottle of wine that Stew had bought from Netto.

Tea was some toasted muffins, and we joined Mike and Viv (BognorMike) and Bob and Ann (Asgard), and talked until it started to get chilly. Stew joined us, at which point, Ann invited us back to their Burstner (was this a subtle sales pitch perhaps?), and we enjoyed the warmth and leather of the Burstner, with Shona and Jessica joining us later.

Another chilly night, although the oil-filled radiator did its job of keeping it cosy (until the ‘stat seemed to stop working – another thing to fix sometime). The bread lady came, and I bought some croissants and bread.

There was some discussion next door, as Russell was describing how he found Oscar unwell in the early hours of the morning, called a vet, who came out and diagnosed a twisted gut. Russell then had to follow the vet in his car at surprisingly high speed to the vet’s practice, where Oscar was operated on. Although the Weimaraner breed (and others of its type) are prone to this, and sometimes it can become quite serious, Russell got Oscar to the vet’s in time, and he was expected to make a full recovery.

After breakfast and showers (Annie’s was cold, and mine was cold, then warm, then cold, then hot), we took a drive towards St. Omer. We followed the river / canal for a few miles, watching a couple of unladen barges ploughing their way upstream – always a fascinating site for me, with their little Renault cars perched on the back, and a derrick there to lift them off. We came to the outskirts of St. Omer, and followed our noses until we found a Carrefour, and bought some stuff. Mainly some dishes.

We have a ‘thing’ – and this thing is an admiration for French crockery. The designs always seem more attractive than we can get back home, so when we’re in France, we always end up buying something – in this case, some bowls.

Taking the road towards the motorway, Annie saw a sign for the Auchen supermarket, which is supposed to be huge. The sign was pointing the wrong way, and was on the wrong side of the road, but we followed what we thought was the right road, and drove up a dual carriageway.

French signposts – they’re either good, or they’re very bad. Past experience has shown that signs to out-of-town shopping areas are frequent, and clear. These were neither. There was no sign, no sign, no sign … and then a sign to a Zone Industrielle. An industrial estate. As we sailed merrily past the junction, we saw the enormous Auchen sign, off to the left. Tsk. A quick trip around the next roundabout, and we were negotiating the decidedly unclear service roads.

Auchen – big supermarket, and a collection of other shops in the same building. And we bought – some more dishes. Of course. Although I did insist on buying some plates too. Let’s go wild, shall we?

Back to camp, lunch, and then a sit around, a wander, a chat or two, and a pleasant afternoon. We had a dinner of quiche and new potatoes and salad, and we welcomed Oscar back to the camp. Russell was relieved to get him back in one piece, even if he did have one of those lampshade things around his head to stop him nibbling at the stitches.

After a better night’s sleep, using the gas heater to keep the chill away, we awoke to a very misty campsite. Thoughts of zooming up to the market and buying breakfast there were abandoned, and we had croissants and honey.

We did set off for the market, outside Netto as Dave (MandyAndDave) had helpfully informed us. Only it wasn’t outside Netto. We cycled on anyway, and headed for the town of Watten, and found … a market. It was only about half a mile further on. It was quite a small market by French standards, but interesting nonetheless. We bought a lettuce, BognorMike bought a tablecloth and some cheese, and we saw various other MotorhomeFacts members wandering around.

Although the mist had gone, the sun hadn’t quite appeared from behind the clouds, so we cycled through the town and out the other side. We were trying to head down to the river, and eventually found it next to the elevated SNCF track – which explains some of the “whooshing” noises we had been hearing in the past few days.

We began cycling down the towpath, admiring a lock with a huge elevated control tower, and a spiral staircase to access it. The only strange thing was that all of this expense was to control a change in levels of about two feet. I suppose needs must, and all that, but it still seemed a lot of effort to go to.

Our towpath route back to the campsite was blocked by the wharf to some industrial buildings, so we retraced our wheel tracks, and headed back through the lower edge of the town, and then back to the campsite, after stopping at Champion for some chocolate mask biscuits for our elevenses.

After lunch, Annie enjoyed a siesta in the van, and I checked to see how Oscar was faring (very nicely as it turned out), and had a number of chats up and down the field.

After tea, as the sun went down and the chill descended once more, Annie retired to the warmth of the van, and I bravely stayed outside, and presently Peter and Chris (Humber Traveller) appeared, and we had a lovely long chat.

We didn’t want to hang around particularly, so we had breakfast and packed up. Several other MHF-ers trundled past us, looking to get an early start at the supermarkets before the influx of day-tripping booze cruisers, and we followed suit.

An uneventful trip back up to Calais brought us to the industrial estate with the supermarkets on the outskirts. We headed for Pidou, although the smell from the food vending chalets outside was a bit sickly. However, we were able to hold our noses, and our stomachs, and stock up on beer and a few other bits and bobs. We wound our way to the checkin, and were offered an earlier crossing for £7.50. Mindful of a pre-planned charity event in the evening, we took the offer, and were waved straight on to the ferry (first time ever!) for another uneventful and comfortable crossing.

We arrived home in the early afternoon, and got the washing machine on and the van emptied.