White Cliffs of Dover

Reaching Calais put hairs on the back of my neck. I felt sick, sad, tired and much more. The site Jake had picked for our final stay was only 5 miles from the tunnel and was in the grounds of a beautiful chateau. It was cold, the North wind was making its way down from Orkney as if to 'welcome' us home. It rained, poetic tears I thought.

Still we've still got two weeks to go through Britain, staying with Bill, my dad, Easter with Lesley and Dave and finally meeting up with those friends who came to Troyes with us all those years ago. Full circle it could be said.

Before leaving Troyes we found a friend for chicken. He waved at us from the shop window and we waved back. Welcome Bastille, or Bas as we now call him. Our garden is growing by the weeks.