Rescued from the Garlic Munchers

Metallic gleaming in the Mediterranean sunshine, as the wind blows the dust around the car park our CUV begins to move; the crunch of tyres from the trailer and the shift of gears from the tractor unit and she is on her way North to England.

She'll have to wait months to get wet again, the engine are not right for our task, there are no electrics and all the power-train is in cases, some of it might never work again, but for this utterly beautiful boat we'll take it all, thank you.

The CUV has been in Provence for 3 years now, and only through a set of secret algorithms was her "for sale" notice found on the internet, no one will really ever know how it was done..

As we negotiated the price for the boat, the Euro was seriously on the rise, so our budget was being eaten up even before we started handing over the folding stuff.

The boat has been much loved by her owner but now his fun-funds have run out he needs to pass it on, and so off we go, winding the artic through the olive lined hills above Cassis to join the main French arteries

Hitting the Route Nationals in France is a great feeling, next stop lunch which is only a problem until we decide to just park on the pavement. The French being French of course, don't mind and enjoy the distaction from their snail hunting and wine-swigging, looking up from their fields and cafe tables to take in the spectacle.

Lunch in France is always good, great mixed thingies for first cours, steak/frites followed by creme brulee, all washed down by a local red, and a siesta to let it all settle.

Eventually when we got to Calais at midnight there were still Frenchy queues forming to look at the boat - driving around the ferry car-park to get another eyeful, and who can blame them.