Armies have marched

The armies marched under cover of darkness.

Or rather, the first platoon left yesterday morning and the second in the briefest of hours last night when one isn't quite sure whether it's still light from the evening before, or whether the new dawn beckons.

Readying members of the family for holiday departure is akin to preparing for military manouevres; a little less convoluted this time as there are those of us who remain to steady the fort against water-borne assault. Nonetheless, male representatives of this family are happy to talk the talk with regard to holiday preparations and there has been much discussion in recent months over dates, times, equipment needed, validity of health insurance, food supplies - perhaps I should re-order this list as the latter should clearly be in prime position - and the volume thereof, bedding, clothing...

As a caring mother and wife I have nodded words of encouragement, paid instalments to educational establishments in the case of the first platoon, occasionally asked whether anything was needed of the second. Assurances were given that all was under control, and although I've 'been there, done that' too many times to be taken in, I was.

We undertook a speed tour of the local city in the early evening two days before departure. Watersports holidays require an inordinate quantity of spare clothing it would seem and the internet shopping delilvery man gave up checking whether this was the house he thought it might be (we've been missing a house sign for a few years now) and has learned not to fear the mock-dobermans that roam the yard.

Platoon No 2 very much took the, 'if we don't ask for help, we won't need it' approach - otherwise known as burying one's head in the small gritty stuff found on most beaches. Thus the car required for the journey across La Manche was still in the garage yesterday with only one or two minor things still to work on, (as this particular reccy is all about a certain classic car rally, it was relatively necessary). Panic buying of supplies took place two days ago; I ignored complaints about the size of the family tent and refused to invest in a smaller version to better fit in the car as we have had both tent and car for some years, there has been time to work out if one will cram into the other. Cries of 'Where are the picnic blankets...the cool-box...have you seen the spanner, you know the one that?' have been neatly deflected, but I confess to feelings of relief in the knowledge that the first child must now be near the end of his journey and the second contingent are probably rocking their way across the waters right now (I did hear the car return to the house once five minutes after departure, perhaps they did remember passports, tickets and money before it was too late).

 It was only last night that I realised I have no idea where Platoon No 1 has actually gone, the land of baguettes yes, but where exactly? Who knows?!