The butter chicken was very good, for a bottle.
More rain overnight, so we packed a wet awning, the clincher in deciding to head home. The journey to the ferry was well-timed but the ferry ran an hour late. The gendarme on French border control insisted on opening the Puck to look for “stowaways”.
Although in first place on the ferry, there was no advantage as they let the cars off first – the only effect was a covering of spray, which dried to a hard salt coating I spent this morning washing off.
We eventually arrived back at home closer to 9 than the estimated 7 o’c and managed to get the Puck back in place with some neighbourly help.
A jolly good trip.