Firstly, my apologies to those who were expecting the regular blogs I was hoping to write while in England; one of the things that the UK gets worse than Spain is the availability of internet cafés. In Wallasey, at least.

In compensation, here are a few of the random observations made during the road trip up through the north of Spain and the whole of France. Not to mention the bloody M25 round London, en route up to Merseyside……

Our first Eddie Stobart truck was spotted within a few miles of entering France, though I was a tad confused by the new [to me] green livery. Our first sighting in the UK took place only a few miles out of Folkestone. I appreciate this comment will make little sense to most readers but what the hell. You can always ask.

The standard of driving in France seems to have improved considerably since my last experience 5 years ago. This must be down to the draconian new laws centred on the sort of points-based system currently being diluted in the Spanish parliament. It was a nice change to lose the flashing-idiots-up-the-bum so common in Spain, as well as the drivers who go past at 160-180 kph regardless of the conditions.

The French place macabre, life-size, black models of people at the scene of fatal crashes. This strikes me as a brilliant move and it can be suitably salutary on a bad stretch of road. But I imagine some Spanish drivers would find it hard to resist the temptation to swerve off the road to knock them over.

Petrol prices in France can vary by as much as 16% and the basic rule seems to be that you will be fleeced on both motorways and A roads. As you’d expect, the large supermarkets on the edge of town sell the cheapest stuff.

The EuroStar service is excellent but, if you are dumb enough to eschew pre-booking and drive up to buy a ticket for the next available train, you will need a small mortgage.

The sanity and courtesy of drivers in the UK are quite astonishing. I’m told that the French have a current ad campaign, suggesting that drivers there acquire a few of the British manners. Gratifying and understandable. In eleven days, I had only one annoying incident and this was when I was approaching Folkestone at the end of our stay. A truck driver signalled and immediately pulled out in front of me, causing me to brake dangerously. I will leave you to guess at his nationality.

If you stay off the motorways and drive through the countryside of southern France, you will pass through village after village remarkable for both their beauty and their eerie inactivity. During one half-hour period, the number of people we saw equalled the number of wild boars observed grazing near the verge – at one apiece. My companion felt these villages should have their pavements confiscated and donated to others where they might be of more use. My observation was that the speed limit could be quintupled without the slightest risk to any village life. Assuming there was some. This would have the advantage of legalising most Spanish drivers rocketing through.

More anon.