I got up at 5.30am as I had a ferry to catch. The unsealed track I overnighted on was quite busy early this morning with brown hares and a couple of roe deer nosing around. There were also quite a few birds in full dawn-chorus - including turtle dove: so all in it was a good start. One of the roe deer even barked at the camper for quite a long time, and then took a restorative slake from a small puddle. It's obviously thirsty work warding off Rosbifs.
The drive back to the ferry was unremarkable and I took the opportunity to visit a déchetterie and fill up with fuel. Prices have definitely come down considerably since Easter and the best I saw was €1.91/l - about £1.65: cheaper than England by some margin.
Once on the ferry (pic) the rot started. About half a dozen of my fellow countrymen were already on the lash (before 9.00am) and spilling out irritatingly with their foul language and general loutishness. I guessed they hadn't visited many Commonwealth War Graves whilst in France.
Once back on British roads I was very quickly reacquainted with selfish and aggressive driving ... and traffic jams, and roadside litter, and people strutting about wearing those ill-fitting marl grey joggers that seem, these days, to be quite a reliable proclamation that the owner contained within could neither actually jog, nor be bothered to try to find a job. I also made the mistake of turning on the radio to learn of yet more country-down-the-toilet news. I wasn't even out of Dover. Blue-birds? My arse.
By lunch I'd made it to Bletchley where I again called in to see Bri on his magnificent Dutch Barge. That, coupled with and some Earl Grey and biscuits, cheered me up some.
Thereafter I made my way as far north as the coordinates shown where I've stayed three times before. It's a very quiet entrance to a bridleway that's always been good for a peaceful evening, brown hares and farmland birds. I've again seen these things this evening, and also a muntjac ... and a barn owl.
BUT, this time the spot is also full of fly-tipped building materials and a Thetford cassette toilet, upon which I might even take a shit in the morning. It's hard to see how that could make things worse.
Trying hard not to be disillusioned by my return to UK soil, and instead focussing on the positives: it's been - until I got on the ferry this morning - an extremely enjoyable trip.
The camper's earned its crust and extremely competently delivered me to some otherwise hard-to-reach nature spots. In spite of the engine-management light appearing, performance has not been affected.
I've been (apart from needing diesel) totally self-sufficient and not had to take on water, LPG or - strictly speaking - food. That hasn't stopped me from doing so, though: I have a weakness for carrot râpées.
Sardinia is just magnificent. The landscapes, space and natural-history interest is compelling. I could breath there. The Camargue is magical and the Morvan a delight. I've been engrossed, engaged and enchanted. I've seen more than I could have hoped in natural-history-sightings terms and have frequently been humbled and privileged.
Post somewhat depressingly composed at 20:40 on Wednesday 10th June from my intended fly-tipping spot N 52.28036°, W 01.04925° / http://maps.google.com/maps?q=loc:52.28036%2C-01.04925
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