Clifton Hampden

Marge is on the road again! She's taken a 45 minute drive down to the river Thames to Clifton Hampden near Abingdon.

Tomorrow is John's 65th birthday, and, Marge seemed the right person to spend it with, along with Angela of course. The campsite we are staying on is right beside the river, next door to the Barley Mow public house, said to be one of Britain's oldest pubs at around 650 years old. This quaint medieval inn, was mentioned in Jerome K. Jeromes book, Three men in a Boat. From Marge, we can see the elegant arches of the 19th century bridge that spans the river.

Late this afternoon, with Marge settled, we set off for a walk along the Thames path. The charcoal clouds were now less threatening, moved along by a keen wind, which rushed through the arches of the bridge and rippled the reeds. Activity on the river was un-seasonally quiet, with boats swaying on their moorings, awaiting the return of their owners.

Our walk took us to Clifton Lock where we sat for a while, impressed by the crew of a large hire boat, who managed to enter the lock without the usual ricochet of the lock wall. Almost perfect, just one small piece of advice from John for them, 'always put the stern rope around the bollard first, it acts as a brake and avoids the front of the boat swinging across the lock'.

Early evening, time for a cheeky glass of wine, whilst watching the weeping willows dance in the breeze. A raft of ducks raced across the grass to nowhere, whilst the pure white doves unperturbed by their frantic activity pecked the ground amongst them.

Nearby a family of Swans huddled comfortably together and shafts of sunlight shattered through the clouds, and the long, awaited sunlight bathed the lush grass around us. Beautiful, tranquil and unbelievable that we should once again be able to enjoy time in Marge.

And to end the day, a glorious sunset, the sky alight behind the lush green trees on the far riverbank.

Longwick. (Home).

The sea crossing from Dieppe to Newhaven yesterday evening was supposed to be moderate, which is was when we set off. Around one and a half hours into the sailing, conditions changed, and it became a little rough. Angela took a visit to the ladies toilet, where she came across a genteel elderly lady gripping on to the wash handbasin with both hands. as Angela exited her cubicle, the lady dashed in, she could almost be heard saying, " moderate, my a---!". Security on the ferry had been upped. We have never experienced having our bags checked before whilst on-board. The search so thorough, the two knives Angela had in her bag were undetected. Marge however, was subjected to a thorough search both on embarkation and disembarkation. We know Marge all that rummaging was a nuisance, but necessary.

At Newhaven port, new fencing and two new check points had been erected at the lorry terminal, whilst we'd been away. the overnight lorry parking was no more. Not such a bad thing, who wants to listen to lorry engines and refrigeration units running? Parking in the main car park had also been reduced, but Marge's space in the corner was still available, so we parked her up, sat down, had a drink and allowed our sea legs to adjust. We were back in England. Where had the last nine weeks gone, it seemed an age since we had set off from this port. As T.S. Eliot wrote. 'We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started, and to know the place for the first time. How apt!

This morning the weather was glorious, a typical bright, crisp clear English autumn morning. Last night there had been a mist of stars, but we were cosy in Marge. Mcdonalds for breakfast, nice, but after so many weeks of eating 'properly', it felt a little naughty.

Then we set off, not home but to Worthing, Marge needed one last adventure. Just north of Newhaven, we joined the A27, gone the acres and acres of French fertile land, replaced by the hills of the south downs covered with skeletons of trees. Shortly after, a Hypnos Bedl orry passed us, their factory is about a mile from our home. How surreal. But we weren't heading home, we were off to Worthing. The beautiful weather made us yearn for yet another walk along by the sea. Driving on the left, now no difference to driving on the right, Marge all confident now, was pleased to visit the town. When she was a young girl her parents used to take her down from London on the train, subsequently, Angela and her siblings were also taken there, and Angela has fond memories of trips out in a motor boat on the boating lake with her father. Sadly the boating lake is no more, destined to the past, but at least she has her memories. Then it was time to leave. Take us home Marge.

At twenty to five this afternoon, coincidentally exactly the same time we arrived for the car ferry yesterday, we arrived home. The circle was complete. We had traveled a total of 4,683 miles, thanks to Marge. What a fantastic trip. T.S. Eliot also wrote. 'Only those who will risk going too far, can possibly find out how far one can go'. A thought to hold on to over the next few months.

We hope both us, and Marge have kept you entertained. As you may have guessed Angela writes the blog, John may add a few words along with his excellent photographs. Our aim is to include you in our travels, and even make you laugh or smile, which we hope we have. Rest assured, Marge will be on the road again in the near future, and we look forward to you tagging along.

Thanks for reading our blog.

Newhaven

A last supper in Marge yesterday evening. Our maps and guide books all packed away. What do you think Marge, shall we stay another month? We and our world have changed in the last nine weeks, but we know things will be virtually the same when we return home. Fortunately, we have snapshots in our minds of the many places we have visited, the sunrises and sunsets, and of course all our photographs, and Marge's blog to remind us of our travels.

It rained heavily during the night, but luckily Marge did not leak on us, for now that problem appears to be cured.

The morning was bright, puffs of cloud hung in the clear sky. Once more we walked around the small town of Ry, kick starting our daily exercise regime.

Not needing to arrive at Dieppe until five o' clock, we planned a stop at Neufchatel-en-Bray, where we purchased baguettes and Pont L'Eveque cheese for eating on the car ferry later.

We then walked along a section of the Avenue Verte, (London to Paris cycle-way), to the town, much of which was destroyed in 1940, now rebuilt.

There was a large fair in town, so it was difficult to look properly at the church and other points of interest.

Walking back to Marge, we saw numerous father Christmas's and garlands of tinsel hanging in a rear garden of a house. A little premature we thought. We wondered if the person responsible for the festive display, had put in a request for a board game on their Christmas list, as we had seen a game every French person should own in the supermarket earlier.

'Don't Step In It! Unbelievable, that such a game should be for sale in a country rife with dog excrement.

Next stop, Mesnieres en Bray. We stayed at the aire here last year with Marge 1, so knew it would be a nice place for our lunch stop, whilst at the same time making use of the service point. After filling up on pasta, there was time for one final walk out which took us down to the chateau, now used as an agricultural college.

We returned to Marge along yet another section of the Avenue Verte, then cut through a wooded area where Angela slipped crossing a wooden bridge over a stream, and landed heavily on her back, resulting in severe pain in her right elbow and left hand. If you ask John, he'll do an impression of her prone body for you. Would a hospital visit be required? Fortunately after, returning to her upright position, it was established that no bones were broken. Wanting to squeeze every last moment out of our time in Europe, we waited until four o' clock to set off for Dieppe, arriving at the ferry terminal twenty minutes before the final check-in. Just after five, Marge was loaded on board, and John had a chance to get his hands on a much needed Cornish pasty!

As the sun set, the sky turned from pink to grey. Alongside the ferry, sat a large refilling tanker, with No Smoking signs displayed all over it.

Above, on the car ferry, a lady lent on the handrail puffing on a cigarette. We're pleased to be able to tell you the sky did not turn a fiery red. The ferry was late departing, by now we just wanted to accept we had to return home. Today we had been tempted to have a 'Thelma and Louise' moment, and just go on and on. Passing through the port and starboard lights on the harbour walls, we said a sad au revoir to France. We were sure down on deck six, Marge was a little sad too. As for now, we must direct our thoughts to all the jobs and problems we left behind. Oh joy, we can't wait!

Ry

Success! Well sort of. Yesterday evening, we visited Benny's pizza parlour. Together with Angela's grasp of French, and John and the manager using Google translate, we managed to establish that the offer of two pizzas for fifteen euros applied. Result! Through the same lines of communication we ordered two vegetarian pizzas. Job done, we thought. Not so, when the pizzas arrived one was vegetarian, the other four cheese. But no worries, John really enjoyed the four cheese as it had goats cheese on it. The main thing was we'd manged to secure the offer price. Walking back to Marge, with full stomachs, we commented on how less than a week ago we were still wearing shorts, now we're in long trousers, fleece tops, coats, hats, scarves and gloves when we walk out. But despite a change of weather and clothing, we are still enjoying our travels.

We have developed a passion for it, it has enriched our lives. The American writer Mark Twain once said, " twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do, than the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbour, catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover".

This morning we journeyed north to Oissel, a small town sat alongside the river Seine, where we walked out to reduce the effects of last nights pizzas.

Back at Marge, we ate yet another salad, and watched the traditional Seine barges slowly pass by, their bows low, slicing quietly through the waters of the river. The scene was idyllic, until a large white river cruise boat powered by, its throaty engine, shattering the calm, a wake sent out of its stern washed the riverbank clean. Shame, it spoiled the picture we were enjoying of traditional river activity, back dropped by the colours of nature which stretched up from the river into the surrounding countryside.

Mid afternoon, we travelled on to the small Normandy town of Ry, where we stayed with Marge 1 one night last year, and were pleased to return to. En-route we passed a road sign for Paris, and realised it was not that far from us. Fancy a trip to Paris Marge? We could always stop and restock our dwindling food supplies! Back to Ry, located in the Crevon Valley. It is the town, the author Gustave Flaubert, based his fictional novel Madame Bovary on.

With yet more walking required, damn that pizza, we walked around the sites and dwellings mentioned in the novel, and then up the hill to the edge of town to take in the view.

Hoards of conkers from the horse chestnut trees that hung umbrella like overhead, rolled under our feet. We commented, in our day as children, they would have all been scooped up in plastic carrier bags to be threaded on string or laces, ready for fierce combat and competition with siblings and friends, although most ended up becoming a mildewed mass in the same bag they were collected in, forgotten until the smell they emitted forced your mother to throw them out. Oh well, there was always next year, when we could amass yet more.

The aire at Ry is right beside the tourist office. Marge is the only van.

Outside the office, is a small library, where Angela deposited the ten books she'd read so far. The cupboard the books were in housed in also contained some of the keepsakes we amassed along the way. Goodness knows how we will remember where we gathered them from, but it doesn't really matter. The main thing is, we had the opportunity to do so, and aknow, before we know it, we will soon be collecting yet more.