Poole, Dorset

With a few hours to kill before setting off to Cherbourg we once again walked along the beach. The pebbles massaged our feet as our eyes scanned the tide line for sea glass. The nearby church bells rung each quarter of an hour, ticking off our time left in France. At three o' clock we decided to begin our final journey. Marge had gotten us this far, and we didn't want to leave it to chance that she'd easily make it to Cherbourg, so we left earlier than was necessary.

Surprisingly, when we arrived at the port there were quite a few vehicles already waiting to check-in. All English. Apart from Bordeaux, we've hardly seen any other English vehicles whilst we'd been in France. The weather was overcast, which we didn't mind. It made it easier to accept we would now be back home in a few hours. Angela made the mistake of checking the weather on the Ile de Re. 19 c and sunny for ten next ten days. Turn around Marge! If only we could. As Marge was directed into place on the car ferry, it was with a heavy heart we accepted our time in France was over.

It had been a different holiday to the one we planned. Marge had tested us. But at the same time, we'd been able to spend over eight weeks in this fantastic country.

Even if we wanted to, we had no time to dwell. At eleven the next morning we had visitors arriving. As for Marge. Once she's been MOT'd, she'll undergo some work that will hopefully be minimal, not too expensive and effective, and we'll be able to report more of her antics to you again shortly.

For now, it's back to miserable, gloomy, cold, damp days and foraging. Yes, it's that time of the year again. Today John managed to fill his basket with hedgehog mushrooms, the first bounty of many this autumn.