Awaking to rain drumming on the roof on Tuesday morning, our runs
around the lake at Ypres were deferred until after breakfast. That was a mistake. By the time
breakfast had been digested it was blowing a hoolie outside. Running gear was removed
unused, jeans donned and off towards France we drove.
Wissant was to where we headed, via a supermarket for one of
those ‘Brit in Calais’ shopping trips of wine and cheese. Yes we’ve been to
Wissant a few times before, and I had intended for us to go somewhere new, but
we like Wissant and when I double-checked our Chunnel crossing time, it seemed the
easier option, with it being so close to Calais.
Mick has long been lusting after this increasingly
dilapidated house, which sits on the beach road, not far from the beach. As we
walked through the village this time I said “What if it has been demolished?”.
It turned out still to be standing, but with a planning board outside,
indicating that something is going to happen to it. It wasn’t entirely clear
what, but I guess we will find out in due course.
A nice, albeit breezy, afternoon for a stroll on the beach, but there wasn't a lot of beach available. Such a contrast to when we were there in August last year.
Wednesday started early for me, as I was determined to cram
in a short run before we left, knowing that I wouldn’t feel inclined to do
anything when we got home late in the afternoon.
Arriving at the Eurotunnel check-in earlier than intended, at
8.30 (for a 10.20 crossing), we accepted the offer of a free transfer to the 9.20
crossing and were surprised, having cleared both immigration posts and customs,
to then be waved straight through towards the platforms. I’d not even turned
the gas off, fully expecting at least ten minutes in the car park before we
travelled.
Gas was thus turned off at the have-you-turned-your-gas-off
check point, and we were directed towards a lane. The lane was empty. The barrier
at the far end was open. A big green arrow told us to turn right. We followed,
feeling a little confused as to why we were driving towards a train 35 minutes
before our crossing (usually you don’t get called to the queuing lanes until 30
minutes before, and don’t start boarding until 25 minutes before). At 8.50 our
train was moving. Seems that Eurotunnel unilaterally decided to put us on an
even earlier crossing.
So, having carefully selected our crossing time such that we
wouldn’t find ourselves in rush-hour around London, we arrived in the UK at
8.30am. It was a s-l-o-w and very boring journey around the M25.
And that was that. It’ll only be a week or so until we’re
off again. The next trip won’t be blogged here though. The main focus of that
one will be hills and walking, so it will be blogged at
gayleybird.blogspot.com.
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