I had arranged with friends to stay in their holiday home in a village north of Charleville (where they live). Most of her family live around the village square - one sister next to their holiday house, another in the corner and mum next to her.

6th October (cont)

The drive to C starts well apart from slight rain to welcome us to France, but we get lost in Maubeuge through a lack of clear signs and waste about half an hour. Neverheless we arrive at the house before dark only to find that M's door displays the sign 'Ne frappez pas - bébé dort'.

M holds the key but her husband, the said bébé, works nights and doesn't appreciate being woken when he's having a nap.

So, how do we get the key? We go to D's house. Her son answers and looks puzzled at the sight of two foreigners. Perhaps he doesn't recognise us. His dad comes and greets us warmly - four kisses for me and a handshake for Jay and we go back to M's house where he walks in and emerges a couple of minutes later with the keys to the garage. He seems in a hurry to get back home.

We go in and find the electricity is off. An array of buttons and switches on the wall mean nothing. We tentatively try a couple but to no avail. I go to the phonebox and ring J. (the owner). It's difficult to hear what he says as the traffic is noisy but then Jay comes to tell me that G (the bébé) has turned up so I tell J I'll ring him back.

G has disappeared by the time I get back but, at least, he has shown Jay which button to press. Light at last! The house has changed alot since my last visit - much more welcoming and homely. We unpack and then settle down with a bottle of wine - a special one saved from a shopping spree earlier. M comes in with some homemade soup and apologises that she can't stay, she's expecting visitors.

We go for a walk. It's good to stretch our legs.  We come back for a meal of soup and bruschetta - Jay does all the work - and then we have a fairly early night. Amazingly, I sleep like a log!

All's quiet on the Bear/Whale front - apart from the snores and there's nothing particularly interesting to report so it seems like a good time to look at my diary from four years ago:

Sunday 6th October

Ten to six - two of the cats start hissing and spitting. They'll wake the Bear, so I go downstairs and let them out. It's not light yet but I go back up and start packing a few necessities; lens solutions, glasses, toiletries etc. into a plastic bag. It crackles - I panic - listen at the bedroom door - all's well. Might as well get dressed - dare not run a bath or have a shower - and put my dressing gown on over my clothes - just in case he wakes up.

Creep downstairs with plastic bag - heart racing. It's too early to feed the cats. He's used to that noise but not at 20 past 6 on a Sunday. O.K. I'll write the note. For some reason I don't dare put the light on so hope it's legible:

'Dear 'Bear'

I didn't dare tell you in advance, but I'm gong to France with 'J'. I know you've been trying to be nice lately so I'm sorry to make you so cross. The sad thing is we will never come to terms with each other's feelings for my children. Take care - look after the cats,

love, S'

Now, where do I leave it? Hide it till I go. He might come downstairs! Feed the cats, make a coffee. It's getting light and I think I'm a bit calmer. Creep upstairs and rescue two more binbags - a cosy duvet cover and some other bedding - then back down, and feeling braver, take the roasting tins that the children left behind when they came to collect my clothes and sentimental items (at least, those he wouldn't miss) while Bear and I went into Norwich yesterday.

Goodness, five to seven already. I MUST go to the loo and hope it doesn't wake him. 7o'clock: I creep out of the house with everything crammed into the two plastic bags, handbag round my neck, the letter left by the phone.

My hands are trembling so I can't lock the door without clattering the keys. I walk down the drive keeping on the grass to avoid the crunch of the gravel but all I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears.

At last - out on the road and walking towards the bus-stop. The bags are heavier than I thought and my dressing gown belt is hanging out so I stop to sort it out.

Nearly five past seven and I'm at the bus-stop. Hope there isn't a bus due. I'd feel foolish if it stopped for me and I didn't get on. Hope Jay isn't late. There's a car coming - no, it's turning down by the Post Office. Please, please let the next one be Jay. Another one turns down Mill Road. I hear a third - is it?  Yes, what relief. I pile the bags into the back  and sink into the passenger seat.

'Hi Mum, how do you feel?' To be honest, I don't know - numb, relieved, afraid, excited - all and none of these things. The one thought filling my brain is 'I've done it. At last I've left him!'

Jay does a U turn and we, too, turn down Mill Road and set off for Dover. 'I told CC you'd ring her when I picked you up'. Fine, I fumble through my handbag for the mobile and dial the number. CC sounds more tense and nervous than I am but is pleased to hear the pick up went so easily.

The roads are reasonably clear and we arrive at the ferry terminal just before ten. A short wait before boarding and then France - here we come.

I'm surprised there are no overwhelming feelings of regret that this may be the last I see of England for a long time.