In the words of Robbie the Robot "Going Home"

Its a Fireball XL5 reference for those of you too young to know. It was a 60's monochrome supermationation affair - sort of supercar on speed. I wanted to be Steve Zodiac and I was in 8 year old boy lurve with Venus, (till I was unfaithful to her with Marina and Atlanta Shore from Stingray). Let's not even mention the angels from Captain Scarlet.
So monsiuer arrives at 10.30, he skins us for 80€ for utilities and we are away. A fairly easy journey to Le Havre stopping for lunch in Honfleur. On to the pride of portsmouth and we bag 5 couchettes and become British. Colin bag a place to watch the cricket where we have a top seat and beer. I reflect how a ferry would be a good place if you were manic, lots to see do and hundreds of others with odd behaviour. Remind me to stay away if I go high. The meal is poop. The beer worse. Delightful cruising up the Solent and seeing two aircraft carriers at the dock. The bright lights of portsmouth and other sea side places. I wave at Jenny and Chris Sudell on the isle of Wight. To the travel inn where the service is derisory and ito the plastic pub where it is worse. The draught bass is off and the staff can't be arsed changing it. Welcome home. The hotel gets me down. Smiley notices eg 60 ways to save the planet number 57 change your towels every other day. They seemed to have missed the fecking obvious like turn down their bloody heating. It must be 30plus in here. I am irritable the sun is shining but my poetic brother in law puts it succintly. Portsmouth is a shitheap (well the bit we can see and the service here).
On our way up the M275