An early start at 05.15 left us plenty of time to reach Portsmouth docks by 6am when we had been told that the ferry companies offices would be open, and we could begin our research into fare costs. An easy and quick phonecall en route to LD Lines managed to secure us a crossing at no extra cost for midday so by the time we arrived all we needed to do was find out how much the competition were going to charge for an earlier crossing. When that quote came in at nearly £600 it was time to go back to sleep and await midday! Tom went to find coffee and a newspaper but not before being told off for not wearing a high-vis jacket or having his passport on him. Firstly, who has a high-vis jacket and secondly, even if they do, who admits it? Truckers, eh! The passport though, was his fault, but luckily it was in the truck and not back in London.
We did manage to pick up some valuable advice, however, which is that the French and Spanish authorities (read underpaid police service), have found a lucrative second inome from stopping Brits abroad who they reckon won't have the right kit. Basically, don't forget your hi-vis jacket (one per car in France but one each in Spain), your GB sign on the back of your car and two warning triangles. Also if you're driving at night you'll need those funny headlight adaptors. Without these things we're told that a €90 fine may quickly come your way. You'll be pleased to know that should we be stopped we're fully kitted out.
The ferry crossing passed nearly without incident. Whilst Rich slept, Tom and Mark were accosted by a mad Frenchman who just so happens to live in Le Havre but who is a die-hard Chelsea supporter and makes the cross-channel journey often, to see his beloved team. After he had shown us all his Chelsea tatoos, legs, arms and bare-naked torso (the man actually removed his shirt at the bar), he seemed slightly unamused when we asked him who he supported. Still, you can't win 'em all, and he just looked confused and then probably contemplated just how stupid we were, or perhaps just how many beer's he had consumed. Luckily for us Chelsea had recently won 4-0 so he was trés content, and luckily for him, we couldn't remember any French. Anyway, we quickly got bored of him and went to find something to eat and a conversation that didn't involve the word Chelsea every other word.
Instead we quickly discovered how not to speak French at all, and that the same actions you need to choreograph the buying of a coffee in a quasi-charades style act is very similar to that employed whilst attempting to mime the name of some smutty 80's TV show at a family christmas. Happy days indeed, but the coffee was rubbish!
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