The journey to Folkestone worked.
In the spare car, with the silver one to be taken away to be fixed next Monday. We even managed to zig and zag our way through the blockade and past all of the lorries parked on the M20.
Right the way through to the French control point at the tunnel. We were even on time for our originally planned crossing.
Feeling pretty good.
The inevitable question about tickets and passports. I had all the necessary documentation, but my accomplice did not. Merely a driving licence. I'd asked about the passport when we were only a mile from home. Let's say I didn't ask in a clear or precise enough way.
Anyway, we've now been refused entry to France and have a form to prove it. Invited to the little white room by a pleasant gendarme for questioning and paperwork. Then escorted from the French part of the UK end of the Tunnel back to British jurisdiction, by security.
Actually, I'm in the clear.
I can still come and go as I please. But right now I'm waiting for the other passport to be retrieved. Having run the gauntlet of roadblocks, Operation Stack and similar, we decided it was best for me to sit here with the car.
I've been doing work emails on my blackberry and now moved onto my Macbook Pro. In a moment I may write a new novel. There should be enough time.
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