Arrival at Charles de Gaulle Airport

Our plane landed about 7.30am. By the time we passed through border control and collected our bags, an hour had passed. Not so bad really. As we exited the inner bowels of the terminal, we passed by the host of drivers lined up to the left of the exit, scanning their placards carefully. No Crawshaw. We went further afield, then back to the wall of drivers , still no luck. Michael finally phoned the company and was told that our driver was near the information desk. Well, no he wasn't. By this time another thirty minutes had slipped by. In desperation, Michael went back along the line of drivers and happened to glance across at the hordes of relatives waiting to greet their loved ones. Yes, you guessed it. Our unkempt, unshaven hulk of a driver was slouching in the throng, yawning his head off, sporting this sign -

It's a fair bet that he hadn't arrived when we came out. Either that or he wasn't  holding his sign up for all  to see. The other placards were electronic or neatly typed. Needless to say, he blamed us for "not looking properly!"  A bit awkward on the way out of the terminal, given his surly attitude and the usual language difficulties on our part.

Unfortunately, we were barred from leaving the terminal due to a security scare. Unattended baggage somewhere. We stood around for another forty minutes while police, military personnel  nursing artillery, and bomb detector dogs roamed the deserted end of the terminal. Our driver's Peugeot was parked very close to the exit so we had to enjoy his delightful company for longer than we would have ever wished. Eventually the all clear was given, the barriers removed and we were able to proceed  With our bags stuffed inside a boot littered with rubbish, we set off  for Paris.

If we thought the worst was over, we were slightly mistaken. Once clear of the airport, our man Nigel ((I eventually asked for his name, I think that's what he said) planted his foot and very quickly we reached a speed of one hundred miles per hour along a clear way. When Michael asked him to slow down, Nigel just snorted. Luckily, he had to merge right and we could breathe again. Only just, as Nigel spent a good deal of the time on his mobile, all the while playing the same rap song on his iPod over and over again, and mumbling along when he wasn't on the phone. Oh joyous journey.

Eventually, he deposited us at our apartment in Rue Le Roux. As we gathered our tattered selves on the pavement, Steve popped his head out of a window on the second floor and greeted us with a smile and a "bonjour!" Such relief to see a familiar face.