mad dash to paris in a knackered purple flowery peugot 205
About 10 years ago my Grandmother died. I really wanted to go to her funeral as she was amazing - she'd plotted with my other grandmother to keep me sane in the midst of all sorts of family wierdness.
Only problem was she'd lived in Paris and the funeral was there. We had no money and a battered old diesel peugot 205 which had, mileage wise, been to the moon and back. We'd painted it purple with multicoloured daisies all over it because the paint had faded to orange. It was an amazingly faithful runner and had never conked out on us over the couple of years we'd had it so we hadn't got out RAC membership...

We left our 4 and 6 years olds with some good friends and took our nearly 2 year old with us. The bloke I'd phoned at the passport office told me that he was fine to go on his mothers passport, which surprised me but I believed him. We had 4 days before the funeral - plenty of time!

Part of the way to Dover from South Devon at night the lights flickered a couple of times, the battery light came on, then everything just died without warning. My wife managed to pull over into the little bit of slipway between the motorway and a sliproad. We had no hazard lights, no nothing. And no RAC cover and a ferry to catch. Thankfully we were just inside some roadworks, so we got free recovery. I used the roadside phone thingy to call and for some reason we were told not to leave the car. Every time anyone went past on either side the car rocked and I was half convinced we'd be roadkill within 5 minutes, but the recovery lorry came along and towed us to the nearest services where a very nice AA man had a look at our engine and fixed it for free - the alternator brushes were manky apparently. A fast battery charge and a quick nap later and we were on our way.

We got to the ferry just in time and queued up. When we gave them our passports they asked us for one for the kid. When we told them what the passport bloke had said they just laughed and told us we couldn't board without one. They were very nice about it and changed our tickets for the next day.

After some interesting discussions on the phone to the passport office we decided that the best bet was to head for London and get him an emergency passport rushed through, so we turned round and bombed towards london. As it got dark, on went the lights and a couple of hours later the lights started flickering. Knowing what was about to happen we just managed to make it into a services before the engine died on us. This time there was a nice RAC man who had a look at it for us. He said the alternator brushes were worn out and he replaced them for us, only charging for the brushes. A quick nap later and we were on our way, bump starting the car. This involved getting it coasting down a hill with the gear in 2nd and the clutch down then pumping the clutch up and down and turning the key repeatedly until you get lucky.

It wasn't long before the lights started to flicker again. bollocks. We realised that the alternator was still not charging the battery properly for some reason and that if we were lucky we could run it without lights OK, but night driving was definitely out. So we pulled over and went to sleep for the rest of the night.

Caught an early morning train into London, went to the passport office who needed to see various document we didn't have, so we had to phone the friends our kids were staying with and get them to rummage under our bed for birth certificates and all sorts of stuff then go to a shop and fax it all to the passport people, who gave us a passport for the litle'un. Train back to where we'd left the car at the top of a hill, bump started it, rushed to Dover in time for the ferry. They let us on this time, and we parked where a little push would get us to the top of the ramp. The ferry people helped us to get going and there was a mighty cheer from them all as the engine kicked in halfway down the ramp.

It was getting late so we pulled over into a residential street in Calais and 'slept' in the car. The plan was to go to a local garage and get the alternator fixed. Unfortunately(!) it was a public holiday... But we found a one man garage open in the end. He was very impressed when my wife managed to guess the french word for alternator (alternateur). He couldn't source us a replacement as it was a holiday, but he cleaned it up again and between him and my wife managed to convey to us that it was the disc not the brushes that was the problem, and this was harder to get hold of as it was a more unusual thing to wear out. Almost all the shops were closed so we managed to pick up some of those weird plasticky brioches at a garage for breakfast and lunch and we hit the french motorway. If we'd broken down there we'd have been in all sorts of trouble as we didn't have the proper kit. So we had to just hope. By now it was the morning of the wedding.

We got to Paris without incident, but my aunt's directions turned out to be rubbish. We had to keep stopping and asking directions in crap french and then trying to understand the answers. We finally made it to her old apartment with three hours to spare before the funeral. We hadn't slept or washed properly for days, and we staggered up the the apartment to be greeted by my mad aunt in her underwear.

One funeral and a day with my Father (who'd come over from Hong Kong for the funeral) and Aunt who seemed to actually hate each other, and we bump started our way out of Paris. Got to Calais and 'slept' in the car again. Got chased out of a restaurant for using their toilet, looked for a garage, couldn't find one but some nice blokes helped us bump start from the flat, which involved the same actions for the driver but about 5 people rocking the car back and forth. A big cheer later and we were on our way onto the ferry. Everywhere we'd been in France people seemed to love the fact that we had a french car and that it was decorated in such a loopy way.

By the time we got home we'd conked out 9 times altogether. Our local mechanic fixed it and it never broke down again. We eventually got rid of it because it was cheaper to replace it that get 4 new tyres, get the door fixed (it wouldn't close) and get the heater fixed. I honestly think the engine would still be going.

My wife had a paddy when we got home because normal life was so boring in comparison. I think she's got a bit of gypsy in her lineage somewhere because she hates staying still and she's happiest on the road.

We're going on a road trip across France in a few weeks in our 18 year old leyland daf 400 home converted camper van, taking the now 13 and 15 year old kids. Going to Paris then down towards the Med stopping at vineyards, cheese farms, etc. on the way. Hopefully it won't be too similar to the last time we were over there!
(teasus likes tea, Mon 18 Jul 2011, 11:33, 5 replies)

Your funeral changed to a wedding in the middle there, and back to a funeral.

Nice story though. Wouldnt have thought the old frenchies to be reliable at all.
(tyrellsOwl, Mon 18 Jul 2011, 12:26, closed)

^ this
I was enjoying it up until then.
(berk, Mon 18 Jul 2011, 15:11, closed)

For many a man
they may as well be the same thing.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Mon 18 Jul 2011, 15:32, closed)

I noticed this too..
Kinda threw me for a second..
(danniekavanagh did nothing constructive on, Mon 18 Jul 2011, 21:50, closed)

that is a funny bump start technique
if the driver started turning the ignition off and on while I was trying to bump start their car I would biff them
(trevorthecat, Mon 18 Jul 2011, 17:37, closed)