Perhaps we should have booked the ferry..

After a few hours of driving up the empty, ruler-straight roads in middle of nowhere France, on a dull day in early March, through one decrepit small town after another, as driver's arse ache sets in it is not surprising that the alternative route home - the ferry from Santander - increasingly seems a more sensible choice. It is only the cost that puts us off, but in truth we can afford it. So why make a an irrational choice deliberately? 

If I knew the answer to that question the news right now would make so much more sense, but I don't, so I will continue hanging onto the steering wheel watching the dull landscape of the Allier valley fill the windscreen, then observe it disappear behind us in the wing mirrors like grubby water down a plughole. Time has slowed, I glance at the clock on the dashboard - 14.05; I drive for what seems like half an hour, then check the time again - 14.09.....groan.

Occasionally the tedium was alleviated by desultory groups of yellow vest protesters gathered at roundabouts. Only the hardcore remain now, it no longer appears like a mass protest. The gaggles are overshadowed by the large yurt like structures that they once gathered around, built presumably to house protest essentials like placards, flags, gas masks, petrol cans, picnic tables, and BBQs. Gill's sister who lives in northern France reckons the the whole thing has become a bit of a weekend social ritual for the remaining gilet jaunes.

What followed was a variety of half baked attempts to delay the onset of boredom related mental collapse. What has been interested about today? I asked myself chirpily. Well, last night we got a pitch overlooking the river at the Aire in St. Pourcain-sur-Sioule.

The bare trees at twilight made an interesting pattern, like a monochrome Jackson Pollock. When I pointed this out to Gill, enthusing particularly about the blotches the crow's nests made, she looked at me pitifully and pointed out the blotches were in fact mistletoe. Well, botany never was my strong point.

Then this morning a group of fishermen turned up to entertain us. They were the real deal, waders, khaki multi-pocketed jackets, battered hat - they took up position midstream, casting into the deeper pools. One caught a big trout almost straightaway. No sports fishing here, he did not throw it back, but popped in a bag for later.

Whenever I see people fly-fishing I think about my dad. He considered the sport ridiculous, but spent most of his working life as a split-cane rod builder. Some famous people fly fished with rods my dad built - Prince Phillip, The Duke of Gloucester and many other members of 'The Lord's', The King of Norway, Frank Sinatra and his 'Rat Pack' associates... In the late 1960s fibreglass replaced spit-cane, my Dad was made redundant and ended his working life as a night telephonist. He was a realist. At least BT have a pension scheme, he would say.

However, today's main topic of conversation in the cab concerned the weather forecast. It would seem that over the weekend and into next week it is going to get very windy in the north of France. Gales and motorhomes are not a good mix. Over lunch in some god forsaken roadside parking spot south of Bourges we considered the possibilities. Sunday is forecast to be the worst day, so we decided to stop for the next couple of days in the ACSI site at Sully Sur Loire.

So, that is where we are now. After days of driving we took a walk along the riverside path, then through some mixed woodland that has been developed as a nature reserve. It still looks wintry here, not just the bare trees, but the last few snowdrops are still in flower. Some blossom is coming out, but you can tell it is not properly spring-like when the most colourful thing in the woods is lichen.

The rest from driving everyday is welcome. Also a decent shower. We can manage three days 'wilding' but that is our limit. I can't imagine how people manage to live off-grid most of the time. Perhaps some of the bigger A class vans - Cathargos and the like have more spacious bathrooms, and bigger tanks. It is the water carrying capacity and the fact that the bathroom is little bigger than a wardrobe which limits us to the three nights off-grid I think. In the end forever living in a car-park would begin to get us down too I suspect. All that being said, the prospect of living in the house by the end of next week is not something that excites me. For five of the last six months our home had been this 7m x 2.5m box, it does feel like home, the ultimate room with a view.