There'll be Bluebirds Over...

In the interests of holding your attention to the end, spoiler alert, the day didn't end as well as it had begun. But I'm not going to reveal why till, well, the end.

The bikes had spent the night with us in the room (Premier Inn are great about that), saving any paranoia about them disappearing into the Dover night from the roof of the car, and after a quick shower and cuppa, they were repatriated to the roofrack and we were on our way for the ferry. Dark tales of tightened controls and huge queues proved inaccurate as we sailed (if you'll pardon the pun) though easily to check-in. So swift were we that there was an offer to put us on the hour-earlier ferry. No need to wait for boarding, last vehicle on, doors close on the boat as I do the same to the car. Sun is shining on the white cliffs. Nous sommes en route.

The ferry itself is possibly on about half-full, though those from Essex are in full voice. I've never really been the most sociable of people, but as time marches on I find myself seeking further distance from the unapologetically loud and obnoxious. The types who think speaking louder to foreigners in English will make them understand, and get annoyed when it doesn't work, because in reality it's their ear-splitting accent and overwhelming use of British idioms that is muddying the waters and clouding the issue. The boat is full of them, unironically ordering croissants and lattes.

Free from the shackles of the ferry we can see the promised check-in 'chaos' on the Calais side for heading to the UK. We, on the other hand, breeze past unmanned additional passport checks and security posts. The CRS, basically the 'hard bastard' wing of the French police, are in evidence, as are miles of high fences topped with razor wire (soon to be replaced by British funded walls). And there's the 'Jungle'. Huge. Dwarfing the scale of four years ago when we last passed through. The stateless and utterly disenfranchised watching us pass by with the only concern being how much the autoroute is going to cost.

We often see photos of skyscrapers in India towering in their wealth above the shanties, or of favelas lying cheek by jowl with new olympic developments in Rio. We snark at the juxtaposition. But that's exactly what is here. Houses of chipboard, corrugated iron and tarpaulin being passed by in six-figure motorhomes, and cars with boots filled with wine that cost as much as would feed a Jungle resident for a year. And I'm as guilty as them all, driving on and thinking, "Another six hours behind the wheel? This is going to be a nightmare..."

As if to prove the point we take our planned halfway stop at Epernay, in Champagne country, and without a flicker I hand over my bank card for a case of Mercier. Calais is forgotten, the holiday is started, and it's only a few more hours to Semur-en-Auxois.

The British cars are thinned now, and in their entirety as we leave the autoroute at Troyes. There's a brief stop at a supermarket in our destination town, a beautiful medieval spot, with impressive towers and wonky buildings, before we find the little renovated house we're staying in right beside the river.

First impressions are good, but.... Don't last long. It feels like a thriller movie set as we find both bedrooms with the furniture from them stacked on the beds. There are cables draped from the emptied sockets in other rooms, and such is the muck on the sofa it looks like it should be condemned. Parts of the renovation look unfinished, with bots part-painted, or unplastered, and a light fitting downstairs has been moved two metres, with the cable held in place with sellotape.

We set about rearranging the bedroom, and the sofa is covered by a large throw. The wifi is working, so I'm able to send some pictures to the owner, while Mel seriously considers if she wants to stay here. The response comes in and it appears that the cleaner, Mme Beau, had started operations, gone off to do something else, then.... forgot to come back.

At least that solved the mystery, and wine, bread and cheese on the balcony overlooking the river, with a kingfisher darting by, went some way to bring a bit of much-needed relaxation after two days of driving. But the not-like-the-pictures arrival has us wondering about heading a few miles north for the last few days of the trip, making the return to Calais a little shorter.