We were up early, bright eyed and bushy tailed, keen for the off. By the end of the day our initial enthusiasm had been kicked out of us by South East traffic, unclear parking rules and a tight squeeze.
In reality Sarah was up early, while I lazed around drinking a leisurely cup of tea in bed! We finished readying Basil; emptied the bins and fridge; and secured the house for a lengthy absence. We set off at about 11.00am, with SatNav confidently predicting a 3 hour 20 minute journey to Whitstable, a mere 170 miles of dual carriageway away.
Everything progressed smoothly until, after a brief stop for lunch, signs on the M11 indicated a one and a half hour delay on the Dartford Crossing! Never fear, our intimate knowledge of the that there London Town meant we knew that the Blackwall Tunnel would mean we could avoid the hold up. Initially this plan worked well, as we sailed past the London Olympic site, only to grind to a halt just north of the tunnel. We then spent the next hour and a half queuing through the East End, with only the whiff of diesel fumes and jellied eels for company!
Our view for most of the day
At our lunch stop I had looked for cheaper alternatives to the £22 a night our proposed Whitstable campsite would cost. I had spoken to the campsite and at this time of year we would just be parked on their car park, as a result of soft grass. £22 seemed a bit steep to sit on a car park and as luck would have it Canterbury Council, which has responsibility for Whitstable car parks, indicated a car park for £3 which allowed motorhomes to stay for up to 24 hours.
Having extricated ourselves from the horrors of London traffic, we whizzed down the M2, our teeth rattled by potholes which make Bulgaria’s roads look top notch. On arrival in Whitstable, sure enough there was a car park in the correct place, but no sign of parking bays which would fit a motorhome. To make matters worse the automatic payment system refused to take my money because it said my number plate indicated Basil was not authorised to park!
So we piled back in Basil and headed for Canterbury, which we knew had one of the few proper motorhome aires in the country. Unfortunately the dogs had only had a short walk at the car park and in protest at having been made to cross his legs for umpteen hours since our lunch stop, Melek decided to deposit a little stinking present on his dog mat!! A quick clean up and we were soon entering the outskirts of Canterbury.
As we approached the ancient city gate at St. Dunstan’s I said to Sarah “are we going to have to go through that?”. SatNav confirmed that we were. I could see that the height was not going to be a problem, but as we neared the gate, with a queue of traffic behind us in the dwindling light, my doubts about the width increased. As we reached the narrow gap I was convinced Basil was too fat to fit and the thought of extricating Basil backwards in rush hour traffic loomed. We inched forwards and with Sarah guiding on her side we made it through with literally less than one inch leeway on our wing mirrors!
Our hero gradually turning grey
We finally arrived at Canerbury’s beautifully laid out aire seven and a half hours after leaving home. We are now parked up with several other motorhomes, most of which are probably heading for warmer climes and debating whether we will treat ourselves tonight in the nearby pub.
Things can only get better.