And we're offski

So, prepped and ready to go, notes exchanged with sleepy daughters at 5am (they insist we wake them up), we climb aboard the 'love' bus - a 2004 Dodge Grand Caravan, a seven-seater beast of a machine that guzzles petrol like I guzzle alcohol after a long day in the office. That said, it is real comfy with its 'captain' seats and easy-to-hand refrigerator. It comfortably houses captain Antony, co-captain Bissett, two bikes, two huge mirrors (for the apartment NOT for our journey), some framed pictures and two cases of 'stuff'.

Three things already remind me I am 48 and nor 18:
* My new walking trousers, purchased in a camping shop (wtf?), have a 'glasses wipe' attached inside a zipped pocket
* Having safely slipped passports inside the wallet of euros given as a leaving present at work (thanks again, guys), I promptly forget where I put the passports
* The £2 for the toll to cross the QEII bridge on the M25 is clutched in my hand. An hour early.

Break for le Bordeaux
What is it that makes two very middle aged people give up the grind of everyday life and bump start it again with a break for the border(s), showing a clean pair of heels - or, in my case, a pair of solid and sensible pair of Timberlands?

Risk comes in many shades - who hasn't made a dash to work, breaking speed limits along the way whilst playing 'petrol gauge' roulette with the dial faltering in the red? But those everyday 'risks' that pepper my day grow too comfortable and too rehearsed and too predictable and, at 48, I needed a new challenge that cannot be met by a never-ending cycle of deadlines. So, Bordeaux is where we now rest our weary heads. We arrive without a plan and without knowing where we will stop tomorrow. It's fun and not something I've enjoyed since I was last 18. It's also a short-term fix - we will be back before our daughter, Nicole, reaches her 15th birthday next month - but it beats staring at an Apple Mac for the next month and I just want to take a bite out of life!