A long day today, not least because it started at 2.30am. Over 200 miles to drive to catch a ferry, not helped by the Highways Agency website lying about the A46 roadworks. One lane closed, it said, but use the other lane. No. Road completely closed. And at the next junction. And the one after that. Then the junction from the M1 to the M25 was closed. Then my SatNav went, “You don’t want to take toll roads, lets take this 40 mile detour to avoid the Dartford Crossing.”

Sod that. I’ve finally been over the Queen Elizabeth 2nd bridge. It was lovely! Too dark to see much but that just meant it hid the ugliness.

In the end I reached Dover at dawn, drove into the port towards a pink sky silhouetting Dover Castle on a backdrop of white cliffs. Such a shame there were no sensible stopping points from which I could grab a photo. 20 minutes later:

It’s the first time I’ve ever taken my own car onto a ferry. Been in someone else’s car, decades ago, and boarded as a foot passenger, but today I got to enjoy the hopeless morass of badly marked lanes and ambiguous signs. And a customs check, that consisted of a friendly chap digging around in the boot of my car then asking me where I’m going. I only got a third of the way through my itinerary before he laughed and told me to stop. He’s now jealous 🙂 Wonder what he thought about the 29 litres of water in my boot – I stocked up yesterday, didn’t see any point in waiting until I got there.

I booked an 8am ferry, and got to Dover a bit before 6, and it only took 10-15 minutes to get to the waiting point. Second car to arrive, behind a French car. Apparently I checked in at 5:54:52, although I’m not sure why they care to that level of precision. They must though, they printed it on the sheet of paper that also states ‘Must be displayed’. But nothing really to do except sit and wait, and watch two seagulls having a shag in the carpark. I didn’t take a photograph. There is a burger king logo by a building marked ‘Food Village’ but it looks like your classic early 80s seaside establishment that hasn’t been refurbished since it opened in 1926. A bloke got out of the car that pulled up behind mine and went in, then returned 20 minutes later looking disgruntled. I’m not sure the food village caused that though, he was pretty short on gruntles when he pulled up. Maybe he doesn’t like the French people in front of me – although in that case he’s definitely going to the wrong place.

That place is.. the first stop of military significance. Bit of beach and a harbour the French call Dunkerque. Except that the ferry doesn’t drop you off at that bit and I didn’t try and deal with traffic in the town. So I nipped south a little and found something the French surprisingly commemorate.

120 miles, two hours’ drive and 400 years further east, another small French fuck up:

That one’s rather a large battlefield, and there are monuments scattered all over the darn thing. As I got there after 12 hours of travelling I decided to just look at the bits where I’d parked. I also skipped paying to enter the formal bits, which include the climb up that mound. I could do that and would love the view but unless they’ve built a helter-skelter up the inside there’s no chance I’m getting back down again.

I did though buy a coffee. First sustenance (other than one of my 1.5l bottles of water) since breakfast, and it’s the caffeine I need. 28 hours without sleep and only 15 hours sleep since Thursday morning means that driving past Lille got genuinely dangerous. Breakfast was the traditional holiday kick off full English, although as I’m not flying I couldn’t go full canon and have it in an airport. In related news, can recommend avoiding the full English on the ferry.

Driving in France has been educational. It’s taught me why Morocco’s road signs are so terrible. It’s not the Moroccans at all, its their inept filthy conquerors. Yes, France is filthy. I’d been off the ferry for ten minutes (4th car on, 7th car off – cheer) before I found a French man shovelling shit, and he was the exception: The rest just let it cover their houses, their cars, their sheep. And they don’t know how to signpost a road at all.

Belgium on the other hand… The road from Lille towards Brussels is a masterpiece. No wonder Hitler took that route to France, it’s a lovely drive. But Belgium is also where the day went horribly wrong. I left Waterloo just as rush hour started and my route took me around the Brussels ring road and then the Antwerp ring road. I had to concede and have an hour’s sleep at a rest stop 4 miles south of Antwerp, so it was 8pm before I reached my hotel. Here now though, and it’s a nice enough hotel – far more than ‘nice enough’ for £15/night. The lady on reception looks disbelieving at the price I’d paid.

Driving in Holland was fine. I quite like the Dutch.

As it’s a war tour, I’ll be keep track of the score each day. Today started badly, at Dunkirk: the Germans took an early imposing lead but some inspired French refereeing to add 8 days of extra time meant the British eventually equalised for a score draw. Come back tomorrow to hear about the replay 😉

Agincourt was rather more one-sided. It was a clear and straightforward 2 goal win to the English until the archers waded into the mud with their long knives and earned themselves some trophies and ransoms. That late onslaught made it a record win, 0-9 to the away side.

Waterloo on the other hand is a trickier one. Bit of a two-leg affair except both legs were concurrent and the French couldn’t beat the Germans and the British at the same time. So an honourable defeat for France, albeit one from which they’ve never really recovered.

521 miles driven, taking over 10 1/2 hours, with a total of 16 hours travel time. Not fun 🙁 Four countries in a day wasn’t a problem, and having a long day to get myself to a suitable base of operations isn’t somnething I regret. Adding detours to Agincourt and Waterloo was probably where I messed up. But hey, I got to see the battlefields at Agincourt and Waterloo 🙂 The one thing I can’t do is recommend them. Oh look, a field. Just nip over to Naseby near Market Harborough, it’ll give you the full battlefield experience without the foreign travel.

The thing I didn’t pack: plug adaptor. So camera, phone and tablet all on limited time. The phone I can charge in the car, but I’ll go shopping in the morning. Silly, but not terrible. I am at least within easy access of vast tracts of Dutch shopping options, and also have a Plan B: I have knife+screwdriver with me (of course) and the hotel lamp uses a standard 2 pin plug.

Today’s dinner:

The menu was in Dutch but I know about schnitzel goodness and recognised that it came with mushrooms and weird random Dutch words. I should’ve remembered what they are as they apparently translate to bacon and onion, which is a fine thing indeed. Also note the supplied mayonnaise, without it being requested. This is where I picked up that taste for chips & mayo, and it’s lovely to see they still have it too. The Apfel Strudel for pudding was pretty nice but the schnitzel was quite special.

Today’s drive (not including the bit from home to Dover):

Tonight’s hotel, surprisingly on a hill. Also surprising, a 2km walk before bed would put me in my fifth country of the day. I’m too tired though, going to collapse unconscious instead.