Waking up in the Best Western Hotel in Ieper, or Ypres as is is known to English speakers, was quite an experience. I was in a comfortable bed, there was no sound of rain, I was not freezing cold and no immediate concerns sprang to mind. Had I died and gone to Hell?

I needed a few problems at least, so I went for breakfast and left my jacket on my chair when I left. All around me were gernerally British people, on War trails, following stories from both World Wars. I was shocked by how fat everybody was in comparison to the rest of Europe I had seen. Still, the law of small numbers could be operating here, so I put it to one side. The breakfast could of done it.

Tyne Cot war cemetary...

I loaded Betty up. I wanted to visit Tyne Cot war memorial, at Passendale, the largest Commonwealth war grave in the world. It seemed an important thing to see, it would be my last, To be haunted, yet again, by the foolish past seemed a good way to go out.

The trip up to Passendale was through functional villages, rather bland and post modern. very 1930's looking. Then I realised, this whole area would of been flattened by a million shells. The only history in these parts would be underground.

I suddenly felt a lot of respect for the architecture. Every roundabout had some sculpture on it that cried out the folly of war. Whether it did or didn't had no clear meaning, but it did to me. Them is the best sculptures.

I arrived a Tyne Cot at about 9am. From the car park, it was hard to see the place. I wandered around the long path into the place and as little glimpses took hold, I was rather taken aback by the size of the place. What should 20 000 graves look like?

The pill boxes at Tyne Cot...

The whole experience is carefully managed to bring you into the graveyard with some understanding of the depth of loss felt by the Commonwealth of 55 000 of it's children. It was an increadibly moving exprerience, expecially the reading of the names. every name is read out on an endless loop.

35 000 bodies are scattered across France and Belgium and have never been found, their names are recorded here. It was an emotional experience yet again. I have got quite emotional a fair number of times, and I think I have a common denominated apart from horrific death, injustice and innocent blood liberally spilt. It is the crazed selfish ambition of idiotic, psycotic and selfish political leaders.

The walls contain the names of the 35 000 who are missing...

So, what now? I could visit a million war graves and get even more irate. I could go to Amsterdam to see Vincent, as I had promised, I could go to the beach, but I reconed it to be a bit like Skegness, but with no guarentee of donkeys.

My topbox was beginning to smell like a French supermarket. Very organic.... Both my feet and socks were now in plastic bags as both boots were leaking and the socks smelt almost as bad as the topbox. Betty's clutch cable was liable to go at any second, and it looked like it was about to rain.

I have really enjoyed listening to a very mature young Scottish folk/rock singer, Amy MacDonald, at times over my trip. A wonder tune, The road to home.

Oh the leaves are falling from the trees
And the snow is coming don't you know
But I still remember which way to go
I'm on the road, the road to home

Oh the sound is fading in my ears
And I can't believe I've lasted all these years
But I still remember which way to go
I'm on the road, the road to home

Oh the light is fading all the time
And this life I'm in, it seemed to pass me by
But I still remember which way to go
I'm on the road, the road to home

Now I must say goodbye
Keep telling myself now don't you cry
But I'm here where I belong
I'll see you soon, it won't be long
I'll see you soon, it won't be long

I love that song, It may talk a bit about a final end, but it is a happy final end, and my eyes were fixed on the not so final end, but a kind of final end (hoping the final end wasn't a broken clutch lever on the M25......Suicide awaits).

Travelling is really good, it makes a man, or woman out of you. But coming home is so fantatic, because you get sucked up in love and great tales and then you start to reminice and then make plans as how you should change your life for the better. Coming home is wonderful, especially when you have left so much.

If I shook my beetle, I reconed, I would make the 12pm sailing from Dunkirk, so I shook that very same beetle and, after a few wrong turns, ended up at Dunkirk ferry terminal. 100 Euros seemed a complete rip off for the next ferry, seeing as an internet search a few months before came up with about £35. but I was ready for home and the beetle was still, irritatingly, still shaking.

I was assigned row B and found to my joy I was 6th on the boat, 3 lorries and 2 bikes in front of me, hopefully 6th on 6th off. although, this had been proved otherwise in past experiences!

Betty had to be tied down because she was so excited about going home...

The ship set off and for three quaters of the journey it appeard that Frnace was about a mile off the Port side. I was getting well into my voyage, I even knew where my lifejacket could be found (should I need it).

I had an expensive coffee with no kick and a cheese and onion pasty, now that was really good. It then dawned on me that I should get some rest. I lay my head down on the upper outside seak only to be surrounded by excited 13 year olds on a school trip. The kiddies ball pool was empty but I knew I was on the home straight, don't spoil it with some wild accusations now I thought, so I put my head down on a table in the club class restaurant and had a few minutes.

A farmiliar site to welcome you home...

There were the white cliffs of Dover. A wonderful welcome home and I really mean that. Home is home, it may not be as wonderful as some of the things that you see, but it is home, and home.... well.... its Home! Boat docked, second off boat, sneeky overtake of lorry on Customs corner and I was in the lead coming into Passport control chicaine. I dazzled with passport in mouth and was useded through with cursory looks, behind me the 2nd place campervan was pulled over for full cavity inspection.... What a crushing victory...

It had gone from right right right to left left left, but old habits die hard so I reveted to scooteristis and took whatever lane I wanted. Soon I was on the M25 and found the Dartford Tunnel creating a 5 mile traffic jam. It was Friday. I filtered between cars expecting a right who har, but to be honest, I had no problems apart from a transit van driver whom tried to kill me by closing up the gap. Well, he might need a new nearside wing mirror, because I hit it pretty hard. Nob.

I got ot the toll booth and didn't pay anything again only to find Betty was flashing red and overheating, her fan had not come on and she was about to pop, so a slow build up to speed brought the temperature back down. Any standing in traffic was going to be bad so I guess I had a doctor's note...

The rest of the trip up the M1 and M6 was a nigthmare, stop, start standing traffice, roadworks, it was a terrible welcome home. I decided to take the M6 toll road to avoid more traffic around Birmingham, although I was convinced that there should not be so much traffic. Typical English people working late on a Firday Evening. The I realised I had not put my clock back, therefore, I was infact in the middle of the rush hour!

The toll road was great apart from a massive thunderstorm that turned it into the M6 toll river. One biker had stopped under a bridge, it was so bad.

Getting off the motorway, I was supprised by how many people had put out bunting and union jacks to celebrate that I was coming home, especially as it was a bit of a suprise for everyone. I wonder who had told... Saying that, it could have been some other minor event that had happened like some old lady having a job for a very long time being celebrated...

So I arrived home... How good it was to see everyone again, should I start telling the stories now.... No. I was going to enjoy a really big cup of tea that someone else had made, but before I did that, Betty and I had a little 'Valle' moment. It wasn't 'bye bye baby', it was 'Well done Baby'. 'Oh, and I will buy you a new clutch lever'.