Every one knows that the English August bank holiday has the best weather of the year, or at least in our childhood memories it did. Six hours of heavy rain accompanied us to Dover, the journey enhanced by my bike spitting coolant out on the M42, quickly fixed by replacing a new radiator cap with the spare I had under the seat.
As we disembarked in Calais the results of the previous days port blockade by French seamen was evident by the miles of queues stretching down the approach road and onto the autoroute, with migrants trying their hand at stowing away on the stationary trucks.
We had escaped our island and they were desperate to get in.
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