Here we are, off again as we pack in another Europe trip before the dreaded ‘leave’ date of October 31st. When we park our camper van up at aires and sites we are surrounded by the usual mix of Dutch and German couples, our age or similar, making the most of the mild September weather and the cheaper prices.

They are their usual, friendly selves, smiling and greeting as all we travel pensioners do, yet I feel some sense of embarrassment for the way my own country is behaving; ungrateful, idiotic, stupid-and yes, a little ashamed to be British. As yet nobody has initiated a conversation on the subject of our leaving the EU. The Germans are most likely to do this and I’m waiting for it to happen. When it does I will be apologetic and honest, as I was three years ago. I can find no explanation for the decision to leave. It can only do our own country serious harm-and damage companies in Europe to boot.

But we travel hopefully as always, heading this time towards northern Italy via France and Switzerland. The first day is traffic torture, the second insufferably hot, but we arrive to Basel and a convenient [if extremely expensive] camp site with a tram site outside the exit. Switzerland is expensive, but at least free tram travel comes along with the pitch.

The tram takes us straight into the heart of the city, through the enormous, international station, during which an announcement in English informs us the station is Swiss, German and French, [being on the border of all 3]; and I can’t escape the irony of how English is used as their common language.

But the city, bordering the mighty Rhine is beautiful, with a stately, red cathedral dominating the bank and a quaint Rathaus building the focal point of the market square.

Behind the market square we find the famous Christmas shop and soon there are a couple of tiny additions to my tree decorations.

A small, unmotorized ferry attached to an overhead line takes us across the Rhine. We wander back and take the tram up towards the theatre with it’s forecourt atttraction, the ‘Tinguely’ fountains.

Then it’s time to relax with a beer outside in the sunshine on a busy corner, watching the world-and its trams roll by before we head back to the site.

Switzerland is not a large country and remains, to me, something of an enigma. They are not in the EU; were neutral in the war; keep much of the world’s wealth safe in their vaults. They are known for cuckoo clocks, chocolate and army knives. There are 3 [or is it 4?] languages spoken. It is not cheap!

We leave Basel next day and make a short hop towards Lucerne and the lake of Agerizee, where, at Unterageri there is a lakeside site. We have our first Brexit conversation with a charming Dutchman who seems to be following all the grim UK news closely.

‘We don’t like the EU as it is’ he tells us. ‘But it is not good to leave.’ No. We know!