We headed off not quite on time but had plenty of time to detour via the pet shop for a forgotten doggie bowl and to stretch doggie legs before the crossing. I had to back the van into the lower deck without looking at where I was going. Instead, I had to trust the man dressed in high viz orange in front to guide me. It’s fair to say that I didn’t keep my eye on him all the time. I bumped my way into a tight corner and was probably admonished with all sorts of french words that I didn’t understand.The crossing to Cherbourg was choppy. After the initial excitement of finally heading over the channel, I settled in with a 2nd attempt of an episode of Revisionist History. And dozed off to the gentle hypnotic sway of the boat. I woke after 30min to discover children vomiting from motion sickness. I got up to have a look around the deck and get a coffee. Immediately I started walking as if making my way home at 4a.m. after a “lock in” at the White Hart in Whitechapel. The sea was getting rough and we made the 2nd last crossing of the day before services were cancelled by the conditions.Immigration was one of friendly gallic disinterest. On production of 3 British passports and my NZ one, all the gendarme wanted was proof that Mrs B2W and I were married. The wedding rings were clearly enough and he waved us through. It won’t be like that getting back into fortress UK I am sure.We set up camp on the west coast of the Cotentin peninsula in 40mph gusts. The following morning at 3am, I woke up with half the tent on top of me-a result of loose sandy soil and high winds, as well as the situation if the tent in the most unsheltered area of the pitch. That morning, master 14 and I moved it into a corner behind a hedge so that we could secure half the guy ropes to the base of the plants.
Our kind Scottish neighbour lent us some of his heavy duty home made pegs. The van was strategically backed in at the gap in the hedge to help block the prevailing SW wind. Job done, now we could settle in to camp life.