Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Finally, our attention was drawn to the safety of the dogs. There is no legal require-
ment to have the dogs caged when driving in the UK or France, but there is always the risk
that, in the event of a collision, the animal becomes a canine projectile as it rockets through
the car towards a human. This is potentially very dangerous for the humans involved and
it's not ideal for the dog either. So the responsible pet owner should always opt to use a
suitable cage unless there are good reasons not to. We considered this carefully and con-
cluded that Biff was, on the whole, too small to be a danger to either himself or his fel-
low travellers. Sam, now of fairly advanced years and moderately portly, mostly preferred
a prone posture to the more athletic sitting position. So from that angle he would be well
cushioned by the veritable herd of squashy bags and cases that corralled them very closely
indeed. We were good to go.
The day finally dawned, the beginning of our great adventure. We began preparations
for our mini-exodus at 3:30am. Why 3:30am? This was because Jack wanted to take ad-
vantage of the half-hour period each night when the M1 motorway was not at a complete
standstill, thus avoid being late for our Eurotunnel train departure time. Talk about peaking
too soon. This was horribly over-cautious because we would probably arrive at about
5:30am. Far too early.
However, there was no point in arguing, so in a semi-dreamlike state I got cracking on
building a few mashed egg and tomato sandwiches from the previous night's leftovers. I
filled my hampers to the brim and checked that the dogs' kit was properly packed. Mean-
while, Jack prowled around the car looking accusingly at the tyres, in case the pressures
had dropped a fraction from the night before. He then poked around with the dipstick and
after a little persuasion took the dogs for a pre-journey poo-stroll.
We finally piled into the car; two fat dogs, one ancient and nearly stone deaf, the other
with an outsized heart and dicey bladder. As for us, an ageing husband with no recognis-
able tolerance levels and me, with similar bladder tendencies to Biff, but otherwise full of
enthusiasm. Team GB (Great Britain) we were not, but we were keen as mustard. One final
glance out of the window revealed a minimalist heap of assorted tools on the drive, possibly
intended for the journey. However, I decided they would almost certainly be superfluous
and therefore best left where they were. They would be a lovely surprise for 'himself' on
our return home.
We lived very close to the M45, the first main road on our journey. It's a motorway
that seems to be a closely guarded national secret. At just under 8 miles long, it forms a
link between the A45 and the southbound M1. Even at peak times it's usually deserted and
gives the motorist an easy kick-start on to the M1, one of Britain's busiest motorways, ex-
cept in the depths of winter when the M45 can assume the characteristics of an ice rink.
But in April, surviving the M45 was the easy bit. We had relaxed into our journey;
steady drizzle but otherwise acceptable weather conditions. SatNav lady chattered away in
the background, telling us everything we already knew as we eased onto the M1 heading
