NO PIX THIS TIME
Aeons ago, it now seems, the British media were terrifying us with tales of fuel shortages in France. And we had a big-bucks villa booked near Béziers. So should we chuck out our spare undies and the holiday books we intended to read and smuggle in some diesel? Amazingly, because it rarely happens, diesel is presently cheaper in the UK.
Since we intended to cross La Manche by Chunnel (35 minutes) rather than ferry (90 min plus all the hassle of embarking and disembarking) I phoned the Chunnel authorities because they are picky about what you can stick in the car boot (LPG, guns, explosives and unpassported Syrian refugees, for instance, are frowned on). I was told 30 litres was permitted. This may not seem much but it represents one-third of the Skoda's fuel tank and is equivalent to 200 miles travelling.
In the end encouraging info from France suggested that the 10-litre jerrycan would be enough and the 20-litre can (which, when full, I doubted I could lift up to the car's filler cap) could be left at home.
What the British media should have dwelt on were the widespread problems of flooding south of Paris which appeared perversely (But then what's missing from France's tripartite slogan: Liberté, Egalité et Fraternité, is Perversity) to be concentrated on autoroutes and other major roads. If ever there was a case for carrying and using a satnav this was it and we managed to circumnavigate great blockages of stationary Peugeots and poids lourds (French for large lorries) and point ourselves south for more sun and less rain.
RR and VR, the oldsters, subsequently read their Kindles, over-ate and over-drank while the younger end went in for karting and - a new departure - arbor-adventure, of which there'll be more including pictures when I get home. Foolishly I left my camera/computer cable behind in Hereford.
Oh, I saw the Canadian F1 grand prix on telly. All intellectual stuff.