Okay, so we'd missed the last train to Paris. I felt a bit dejected as normally we fly by the seat of our pants and generally make it with seconds to spare. Not this time. We then are told we can get the train from Frethuan back into Calais Town. We do and the train is empty, we also get a free ride which cheers me up a bit. As we walk out of the station, one of the chaps there tells us there's a TGV to Paris at 6.17 am the next day and we intend to get that. We don't get fussy about accommodation, there's a flea pit across the road called Hotel Premiere Classe - as Rhid has said, don't get fooled by the name, it was one grade above the Calais Immigrant Detention camps just down the road. Calais has had some bad press lately about the immigrants camping out trying to get to our gold pavement filled Utopia called Blighty and in the night these guys wander about the town, they don't give us any hassle and we wander around some of the empty bars of Calais. We struck gold though and found an interesting little place. It was what they call a Tabac in these parts, a shop at the front flogging fags and whatnots with a small bar attached. It wasn't very big and there were a few punters leaning on the bar who gave us the once over as we walked in. But as the night wore on they took more of a shine to us and we had pigeon English conversations which broke the ice. One of the chappies who owned the bar had been a Sommelier and therefore loved it when Rhid showed an interest in the Vino Collapso on offer. He recommended a couple of bottles and we spent the rest of the evening quite happily there. We needed anesthesia as we'd have to face going back to Bates Motel later on. We managed to do this quite well.

Rhid added another star to the hotel in the morning by giving it a swimming pool on the second floor. He'd managed to flood our cell as the shower curtain wasn't up to the job. I did my best to mop up and we got out of there a bit sharpish just in case there were complaints from the first floor guests about water coming through the ceiling. We hot footed it across the road and jumped on the 6.17 am train to Paris. The only thing we had to worry about now was if we could blag it to Paris without paying the fare. Despite the fact we'd paid for the other train we would have to pay again unless our luck changed. I don't know how we managed it but by pure chance we sat in the only unreserved seats on the train. So, thanks to the French tax payer we managed to get to Paris for free......in a sort of way. If we had been caught dodging the fare it would have cost near enough GBP200.00 - So anyway, here we were in gay Paree. It was about 9.00 am and we had an hour to take a stroll up Rue Diderot. I thought we'd visit Bernnoir, the nice chap who'd helped Grant and me last year, maybe grab a coffee and an orange juice. I'm sorry to report that Bernoir's Café is no longer there. It was now a McDonalds!!!!!! I just hope that Bernoir made a bob or two and is now residing in Vietnam, where he told us last year was the place he wanted to live.

We went to nearby café and loaded up on the morning coffee, then back down to the impressive Gare De Lyon Station. Earlier on we had arrived at the notorious Gare Du Nord, infamous for Algerian pickpockets. It was no way as scary as it had been last year and we even managed to get through the dystopic RER station down to the Metro without any hassle. I take it the pickpockets like to start their working day a bit later in the evenings. Baguettes were the choice of scran in Gare De Lyon, but of course Monsieur! We then boarded the always impressive TGV to Milan at 10.41 am. We were now back on track.