Euro Campervan trip 2023 (Stage one : home to The Somme)

We are off to Europe.

Our longest adventure in Van Nessa.

Over a month of #vanlife beckons and thanks to Mrs NHSontheRun we are all packed up and ready to head for Dover.

The luxury of taking five weeks out from GP life is possible because of the NHS pension scheme. What a godsend and although I reckon I earned it, still seems a real luxury whilst working as well! God bless Tony Blair.

I'm to be away from work for longer than I have been since 1989. Thirty four years of enjoyable slog.

There was some pressure to clear my desk last week, but nothing like it would have been if I were still a partner in General Practice. Suddenly I'm jubilant at the prospect.

My usual approach to travel, is to nod and agree, gather together some tools I'm totally incapable of using. Realise I'm never going to fix a Ford transit minibus at the roadside. Book van breakdown cover. Laboriously stow the chosen unfathomable tools about the van using space much better suited to storing another three pairs of cork wedges for Mrs NHSontheRun. Sit back proudly.

Thats exactly what I've done to prepare for this trip. Fuk all.

Meanwhile miraculously the dog has been vaccinated and has a passport, the route has planned itself, initial camping destinations have been reserved, and no doubt even the glove compartment is stuffed with tins of Travel Sweets. (What were they about?)

Last year we went for a couple of weeks to France, which we loved. Sadly my good mate Frank inconsiderately died while we were away and we rushed home. The result is that I never blogged about that trip.

This has two effects, firstly no one has had to suffer reading my super nerdy campervan wanker account of the trials and tribulations of solar powered living. And secondly, as I didn't write it down, it pretty well might not have happened. Can't remember where we went exactly, what we did, ate, drank, loved or hated. So this year I've promised myself it's going to be documented. Just for me, and my mild alcohol related memory loss.

Day 1 is Datchet to Dover to Dunkirk. Then two hours to our first stop.

Broke up the journey to the coast with a long dog walk around Folkestone. So much of England still to see, I noted. We were perturbed by the presence of a two foot long adder heading straight for us on the path. I know that with a bear you're supposed to stand still. But in the heat of the moment, would you know what to do about an angry snake? It transpires after the event that my instinct was correct. Give it right of way. It slowed only to hiss a friendly greeting.

The most cursory of French border control at Dover. Considering how much planning had gone into hiding various contraband this felt a bit of a let down.

The ferry was packed with coach party pensioners. The sort of sad old bastards who give trendy young pensioners like us a bad name. With their grey hair, and saggy arms. One of them asked which bus we were on. Was he blind?

By sunset we are pitched by the Somme near Peronne. Rosé in hand. Steak on the bbq. Anti-hypertensive and statin tablets carefully laid out by the sink. I ask you, was he blind?

Thanks for reading, I promise it'll get more exciting than this.