Driving home for Christmas

That's a relief - getting back to Carcassonne unscathed - at one point I didn't think I was going to get past Calais!

I have been in London for a week and for most of the time I was ill - nothing more I don't think than a nasty cold but I could have done without it - and so could Debrah who is sadly showing signs of coming down with it just as I am beginning to feel better.

I went back to London to see (infect) Debrah, to sort some UK finances (only partly successful so far) and to drive the Renault down to Carcassonne full of accumulated purchases that have been getting in the way in our small London apartment and a few special purchases ahead of our first Christmas and New Year with guests.

So, that's why I was up and out at 4.00am this morning to catch the 6.05am channel tunnel train. I reached Folkestone without incident, bought a coffee and a bacon sarnie and joined the end of the queue for my train - I was the last car onto the upper deck, but only just.

After the, by now, routine security checks, I started the car up again and it immediately revved up to 3000rpm and stuck there - I blipped the throttle to try and free it (before remembering that the days of sticky throttle cables are long gone as it is all controlled by electronics now). I moved off slowly, engine roaring away and then realised I couldn't go any faster than about 15mph in any gear and the dashboard panel was now telling me I had a fuel injection fault.

I was desperately trying to decide what to do. I had a car stuffed to the gills with all sorts and couldn't work out if it was better to break down in the UK or in France, although I was now technically in France because I had gone through passport control - so did that already negate my UK breakdown cover? My mind was racing as fast as the engine and by now I was at the back of the queue at the top the ramp leading down to the train. I turned the engine off and restarted in the hope it might just sort itself out - it's electronics, it's just IT, so re-boot it.

It didn't work - so trying not to draw any attention to myself - I crept onto the train, switched off and spent the 30 minutes so-called relaxing journey time fretting about what to do at the other end if the problem persisted.

Thirty minutes later, as the car in front pulled away, I nervously pushed the starter button and, in the words of Leonard Cohen. Jeff Buckley and Alexandra Burke, to name but three - hallelujah. I was so grateful that I spoke lovely words of encouragement to the car all the way down the 700 miles across France - bonkers I know, but that was actually just the beginning of a stressful day's driving.

France was foggy - I don't mean bits of it, I mean all of it - well all of it until I got to the Languedoc - 600 miles of it. Mile after mile of greyness punctuated by dazzling bright red and white/yellow fog lights and no sense of perspective or distance and road signs glimpsed at the last minute as they loom up out of the gloom. It is two hours since I got back and I still feel totally wired from the effort of concentration all day.

It was freezing point or below for the whole journey too with bits of drizzle here and there to help visibility and then, when I got to the Massif Central, there was the snow! Just a bit to begin with but then later it was clear that a good foot of the stuff had fallen, which meant at least two foot banks of snow on the hard shoulder where the snowploughs had pushed it off the road - and a very good job they had done too - the road was pretty much clear but the Megane on it's side in the middle of the road (it looked as if it had clipped the snow bank and flipped) reminded me to take it easy.

Judging ones pace is the key in conditions like that - too slow and I wouldn't have got here until midnight and would run the risk of someone ploughing into the back of me - too fast and well anything could happen.

It was very wintry, beautiful and Christmassy (as far as I could see into the gloom). Trees were bent over with the weight of snow - a veritable winter wonderland - they should have built one of those closed down 'Lapland' parks near Clermont Ferrand instead of in Hampshire - except the French aren't stupid enough to waste their money on such nonsense.

Miraculously, the fog lifted for 10 kilometres either side of the fabulous Millau bridge and gave me a great view of it - what a fantastic piece of engineering - shame the light was beginning to fade as I got there - it was one of those days really