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

Amy arrives

As Chris and I walked home from an evening of name dropping stories chez Gary and Des, the stars shone brightly and the copious amount of Armagnac we had each drunk kept us inurred to the cold night air. The forecast wasn't great for early morning and I knew that if it was foggy again tomorrow then Amy's flight may well not be able to land. I hoped for the best.

I awoke just before eight and just before my alarm. We had been working late in the studio the day before so hadn't had chance to clear up and sort things out for Amy. So I jumped out of bed and cleaned the studio bathroom and found towels and sheets and pillows and generally tried to make the place look as welcoming as possible as a place with a chop saw and toolboxes and paint tins and power tools hanging about the place can look.

The winter fog usually lifts by about 11.00am and the forecast promised a bright sunny day after that, but Amy's flight was due in at 10.00am and as I drove up to the airport I knew in my heart that alternative arrangements were about to come into play.

Sure enough a message tone rang out on my phone - 'we have landed in Perpignan because it was too foggy in Carcassonne', it said. I knew it and was prepared - well, not quite prepared because I had left home in thick fog and, therefore, didn't pick up my sunglasses and as soon as I hit the autoroute and left the immediate vicinity of Carcassonne I was driving in bright sunshine with a very low sun in my face.

I knew from my own previous experience that the bus that would be arranged to transfer the passengers from Perpignan to Carcassonne would not arrive for a couple of hours and would be a slow journey back - so I immediately set off for Perpignan airport when I got Amy's message. It would only take an hour there and another back and I was eager to see her as soon as I could. From Amy's point of view she got a much closer view of the snow capped Pyrenees than she would otherwise have got and had a drive up the coastal route past the Etangs and oyster beds and flamingoes that she wouldn't have seen if all had gone to plan - every cloud / silver lining and all that.

Naturally, there was very little fog in evidence when we got back to Carcassonne and by now it had turned into a lovely sunny winters day - so lovely in fact that Christian, Amy and myself went down to the square and sat outside Bar Felix and had a wonderful steak and chips lunch.

Debrah had gone into one of her housewife/girly modes that affect her now and again and had demolished the backlog of ironing that had been hanging around (and indeed multiplying) and then started sowing and making curtains (thank you Anna for the loan of your sowing machine) for the studio windows which would give Amy a little bit more privacy.

This evening Debrah cooked a fabulous paella and we sat around the kitchen table talking and laughing and doing a Christmas quiz. It was completely non-competitive and just very social and just very lovely.

I can't find the right words to explain how I feel about Amy coming out to France for the week - but I know that I am very very happy about it.