We were installed in the ‘Brit’ hotel, a basic, no-frills establishment which had the virtue, at least, of being three minutes walk from our beleaguered van in the garage car park.

Carrying supermarket bags with some clothing, snacks and essentials, we made our way there and checked in, relieved to see a bar, if no restaurant. A cursory look around the zone revealed limited dining options- a Chinese and MacDonalds.

We dumped the bags and repaired to the bar, where, in a gung-ho but unwise move, I had a Leffe beer, which is very strong. The helpful receptionist and bar tender told us of another restaurant- French. So that was three options, plus the van, in which we could cook a meal, although we’d run out of water before long.

In the French restaurant, ‘La Taverne’, we shared an excellent starter then i had a nasty, gristly steak, accompanied, still less wisely, by 2 glasses of Cremont. I would, at least, sleep.

I woke in the small hours- much, much too hot [as always in hotels], sweating and with a headache- the result of Leffe plus Cremont. I drank a lot of water and took painkillers. In the morning- now Sunday, we breakfasted, twiddled thumbs, read, surfed the internet. We moved to the lounge area for a change of scene from our room, We tried a walk in the afternoon, next to a busy road then a turning off up a country lane looked promising, with elegant houses, autumn cyclamen and a friendly donkey, until the rain swept in. We turned back, had a coffee in MacDonalds.

We rustled up a simple meal in the van with what we had and tried to feel optimistic that next day [Monday] things would be sorted.

As Monday morning wore on it became clear that nothing was happening to resolve the repair of our vehicle. I rang the insurer. I rand and rang. Each time I was obliged to listen to all the safety instructions and choose options. When a call was answered there was no news. We frittered away the day, [going stir crazy by now] and went to eat at the Chinese restaurant- a gargantuan buffet, and made a decision to go home minus van.

On Tuesday I rang yet again to tell the assistance of our decision. We’d need a hire car to get to the ferry port. I was assured that the French arm of the company would work on it. The garage where the van was parked said it could stay, but beyond 2 weeks, storage would need to be paid. Now we had some things to do. We must book our crossing as foot passengers, empty the van fridge and dispose of foodstuff. We needed to buy bags to carry as much as we could. A large store, ‘GIF’ sold almost everything, including luggage and we bought two bags with wheels to pack whatever we could manage for our ferry crossing.

We also emptied the fridge of all food that would expire, bagging it and ditching it in a bin. We pulled all the curtains. I felt anxious about our bikes, which although locked, were in full view at the rear of the van on the carrier. But there was nothing we could do. We handed the keys in to ‘Roady’, the garage where it was parked. They could keep it for twelve days and thereafter, storage would be charged. The insurance would have to cover it.

After all of this, it was a waiting game…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com