Stars in reasonably priced cars

And they were, and despite what seemed to be a battle close to being declared a war between a French couple, the cars were reasonably priced.


We headed north once breakfast in our strange overnight stop was complete, and wasn't long before we stopped where France had turned to a small part of England as a multitude of Brits collected at a services at Le Valley Sur Somme. The land looked like France, felt like France, but sounded distinctly South-East England. Pity. I do so enjoy France.

Our meander to Calais took us through Harelot Plage where we found wintry conditions, the wind blowing so hard that even adults had difficulty opening the car doors as the gusts raged in from the sea. We took a short stroll on the soft-sand beach, the kids amazed at the strength of the breeze. To call it a breeze is unfair in hindsight, a gale would be better.  We laughed, ran, and were amazed that others were out on the sand in this shuttered-down town. Mad dogs and Englishmen calls again.

Cite D'Europe proved our stomping ground for the few hours until our train was due to dive under the sea and here is where we found the cars you see pictured.

We tracked happily round the stores, food outlets, everywhere really, and all was well until Guzzler had the kind of sickening fall and bumped head that puts parents off their food, and leaves that feeling in the pit of their stomach that just doesn't leave. Cars collected though, and things improved until it was time to pack back in to the car for the incredibly short hop to the tunnel terminal. Time for more cars it seemed.

 If you've never been to the tunnel terminal at Coquelles near Calais, it's a mixture of disorganised chaos that forms when you add travellers in one place with departure times close to each other. It did make me smile.  Also making me smile were the collection of nice wheels that littered the queues and parking bays (DB9's, racing Jensen, E-type and the list grows). Pity at least one of the owners didn't seem keen to talk about his steed when asked.

After the smooth roads I'd gotten used to over the last few days, the M20's kangaroo up-and-down nature was a bit much at some time after 10pm on a long, long day. But midnight, B38 and familiar beds arrived to bring an end to another jaunt.

And the stars? The two youngsters: after running close to sixteen or seventeen hours ensconced in their car seats as we trecked across France and home to Birmingham, they were superb. Better than some Jensen owners I must say. Although if you added up all the shopping they had, not sure who was the most expensive