This is the story of our trip to France.

Friday 12th April at last and it’s the French trip in prospect. Mike Kirkham, Steve and Christine Wright, Dave and Linda Bridges, Dave Blenkinsop and Carol Wood, Carlton Brand , Keith Brown Bob Ruddock.

Check over the car for water tyre pressure and the like. Get the bright yellow car sticker courtesy of Mike to the rear mudguard and try to get it level. Clean the screen. Get all those seemingly essential but rarely used bits and pieces such as binoculars charging leads for mobile phone various maps etc. Leave Lowestoft at 12.00pm.

Within 1/4 of a mile of home the curse of seven motoring struck, did I have my wallet with me? Anyone who drives a seven and keeps their wallet in the back trouser pocket will know the problem, you can’t tell if it’s there until you reverse the process that has just taken you more minutes than you care to remember. So I stop, unbuckle, raise myself up, only to find as normal that I have got it. O dear. Apart from that an uneventful journey to Ardleigh Shell garage.

I arrive at Ardleigh at 1.15pm and doubt sets in when no one else is there, have I got the time right is it even today? I fill up wait for Carlton & Dave B. At 1.25pm they arrive. Others arrive at about 1.50pm from their rendezvous (note how I slip into French early in the trip, no arm waving or shouting at this stage) We leave at about 2.00pm.

Stop on the M20 for a fill up, an empty and then on to tunnel to arrive about 4.00pm. Why do they build those ticket kiosks so high? We call in for a coffee at the terminal. Several of us get checked for explosives by security staff dabbing at the cars with a sponge on the end of a stick. I’m sure this is how some seven owners clean their cars given the high gloss achieved.

I am last to leave the dabbing station and on seeing the sign High Vehicles this way decide no amount of linguistic gymnastics can describe the seven as a high vehicle so I blast on up the tarmac forgetting all about our illustrious leader’s (in whose presence we are not worthy) arrangements to travel in the high vehicle section to avoid sharp angled ramps and so on. A security man keeping an eye out for sad old gits living out some dream or other in cars far to small for them helps out and allows me through a break in the cones to join up with the rest of the convoy. While we wait on the ramp down to the train a guard tells us there is a problem with curtain so we may be held up a bit, may be put on next one. Sun now out but cold in the wind. Leave 5.07.
182m so far.

Time to stand around in the tunnel and kick a few tyres and generally admire those good-looking sevens. Unfortunately several coach loads of school children take a shine to the cars as well and we all feel nervous al la Cromer cliff top.

No sooner said than done the train arrives at the other end and clocks on one hour we emerge like multi-coloured rocket propelled moles from the tunnel and blast of down the A16. Passing larger than life size sheet steel statues of sporting activities which only serve to emphasise that this is a relatively dull part of France.

Great drive down, only one Monsieur Fouetée van overtaking us at 95 kph not mph. Not a 2CV in sight, where have they all gone? Arrive at the Fillievres at 8.30pm French time. Impeccable navigation until the last turn when Mike turns right instead of left then goes native and drives on the wrong side of the road and is narrowly missed by a local, roundly cursing those mad British. All down to me because I stuck the pin in the wrong place on my new Autoroute software! After much lock to lock reversing into fields we extricate ourselves from the lane. Then we park in the wrong car park Hotel Moulin not the l'Auberge du Vieux Moulin. Dave Bridge thinks his boat has come as he parks under cover, only to have to move 2 minutes later into the open just off the road. An Hotel owner who also thinks her boat has come in then gets annoyed when we turn round a go out, with much revving of engines.
Friendly members of staff are on hand to greet us when we check in. Did we really look as if we needed that much help? Keith Brown is already half way down his first bottle of wine.

What is it about the French atmosphere that makes us all a bit louder?
Signing in and room keys collected it’s down to the bar where in true British style we all make an effort to catch up with Keith. Some succeed.
Dinner is typical French with lots of those nice carafes and plenty of bread.
There are lots of tired little sevening bunnies so it is off to bed ready for a busy day.