The French Breakdown

A personal PSDM case study

Of all the courses that I teach, I believe that Problem Solving and Decision Making (PSDM) is the most practically useful for students. In it, I utilise a case about a semi-fictitious pizza place and joke about the extent to which I integrate the learning outcomes into my everyday life. In some situations, such as when remodelling my house, I have printed out the work sheets and literally followed the step-by-step process. On other occasions I recognise the benefits of PSDM in a more subtle way.

In this case study, I’d like to share a stressful experience where knowledge of the PSDM content, in addition to other concepts, made a big help.

In May 2024 my wife and I and planned to drive through France. We had left our two children with my parents for a week and were conducting a maintenance trip to our apartment in the Alps. The aim was to spend some quality time together, perform a little DIY, update some of the furnishings, and decide on what kitchen appliances need replacing. We had also booked our dog in to the local vet so that we could obtain a French passport for her and reduce some of the hassle of travelling back and forth post Brexit. We had been looking forward to the trip for some time and set off early Sunday morning with a full car.

Our route

Day 1: Sunday

Often when there is a crisis there is a portent. Indeed almost as soon as we joined the motorway near our house my wife commented on a noise coming from the engine. We had bought the car brand new back in 2012 and it had done 120,000 miles, including regular trips through France (Alps in the winter, Sud-Ouest in the summer).

I brushed away her concerns for two main reasons:

1. The car had recently passed its MOT and had a full service (something we do every year). We’d even mentioned a noise to the mechanic and they hadn’t noticed any problem.
2. I was excited and looking ahead to a full day of driving. I wasn’t receptive to negativity.

At this point it was clear that my wife and I had different attitudes toward this first part of the journey. She was second guessing whether the car had a fault. I felt that we were committed and should proceed. I even snapped to say “do you want to go home?!” She clearly didn’t want to do that, but simply wanted to express her concerns.

With hindsight, I now think we lacked alignment over when to rule out a rejected take off (RTO). When an airplane is taking off there is literally a “point of no return” where the engine speed is such that even if there is a fault it is better to take off and then conduct an emergency landing than abort. This is because once the speed reaches a certain threshold the risk from exceeding the runway is greater than the risk from going airborne. My analogy is of course imperfect, and perhaps even ludicrous. But before any long journey I feel it makes sense to decide when you’ve committed to the trip. I normally wait a few seconds before setting off to ask everyone to double check they’ve brought everything. Indeed it was a noticeable difference not having children in the car to be able to pause in silence and think about what we needed to bring with us. But once that final check is complete, I press the accelerator and away we go.

On a previous trip we’d made it about 5 minutes and I realised I’d left my baseball cap behind. I elected to turn around and go back for it, but made it clear to the kids that had we made it to the motorway I’d have continued without it. The act of joining the motorway provided the psychological threshold for me that we are committed. Of course it’s always possible to have a late RTO. On another occasion we’d already spent half an hour on the motorway when I realised that I’d forgotten the keys to the apartment. We had to go back. But this situation was different. There was no revelation. The conversation with my wife about the engine noise was in the context of her general feeling that the car was too old, and my desire for the mental calm the accompanies a commitment to do something and be on your way. We just weren’t on the same page.

We reached Folkestone on time but there was a big queue to check in. An hour and half later we’d sorted the dog, cleared customs and boarded the train. It never ceases to amaze me how fast and convenient the Eurotunnel is. There are four main ways to travel between England and France, with pros and cons for each. I use all of them regularly. Flying is obviously quickest but it is a hassle to get to and from airports and impossible with large luggage and pets. A Eurostar train is the most enjoyable type of journey but can be expensive and inconvenient. The cheapest way is a car Ferry, which allows you to being a loaded car and any pets. But even the shortest cross-channel route takes 90 minutes, while the Eurotunnel is just 35 and you can just stay in your car.

Having arrived in Calais we joined the motorway and began the journey through France. The toll system is extensive and is typically comprised of quiet dual carriageways with regular service stations. We have an “Emovis” tag on the windscreen which beeps us through the peage, and bills us automatically. It’s convenient and I find it much more pleasant to drive through France than in the UK. Provided, of course, we don’t have to go through Paris. And our route would circumvent that by some distance, passing Reims, Troyes, Dijon, and Lyon.

After an hour or so of driving we were well into a good podcast and pulled into the fast lane to overtake an unremarkable hatchback. I could smell smoke and thought “that poor guy needs to get his car seen to” but soon realised that we had the problem: a loud bang followed by a loss of acceleration. The engine light flashed on and although I could break there was virtually now power coming from the accelerator. I moved back into the slow lane and put my hazard lights on while my wife helped look for a safe place to bring the car to a stop. We knew we had a serious problem and should pull over as soon as possible. Fortunately, it wasn’t long until we saw an emergency point comprised of a hard shoulder and a telephone. I coasted into it with lorries and cars hurtling past but seeing me well enough in advance to pass safely.

Once we had stopped we grabbed our phones, the dog, our high visibility vests, and exited the car by the drivers door (an advantage of driving on the “wrong” side of the road). There was a concrete barrier that we climbed over and then made our way down an embankment and well away from the vehicle. I felt that we’d handled that situation well, calmly pulling the car over, leaving hazard lights on, and waiting at a safe distance. It reminded me of the importance of:

• Having high visibility vests to hand (and not buried under lots of luggage).
• Having the dog tethered within the car while driving.
• Being able to quickly grab valuables (particularly mobile phones).

This was the definition of a high stress situation. Personal safety at risk, cars whizzing past, and uncertainty about what had happened. In such instances you want to be able to rely on rules rather than discretion. You don’t want to have to work out what to do, you want to follow procedures that are in place for this very reason.

Had we been in England I would have phoned our motor breakdown provider. This is the AA, in a policy that is provided as part of our joint bank account at Lloyds. A thought flashed through my mind, however. Are we covered in Europe? I am a conservative, conscientious adult. I get my car serviced every year (see above) and have insurance for everything I deem necessary. I recollect calling our bank once to verify that our travel insurance covered Winter sports, but am I conflating that with breakdown cover? Have I dropped the ball here?

Meanwhile, my wife pressed the button on the emergency intercom. This was the obvious thing to do, and we hadn’t appreciated at the time that in France you cannot use private breakdown providers on the Autoroute system, and you have to use the intercom or dial 112. If anxiety is having to make a choice, then a clearly communicated process that you have to follow is most welcome.

A tow truck arrived within half an hour and having someone with experience in this situation was a relief. I explained the situation and he took the keys and ran the engine. In a majestically and quintessentially French manner he walked round to the exhaust pipe and wafted the fumes to his nose, as if sampling a fine wine. He detected the source of the problem — a broken fuel injector — and revealed that it couldn’t be fixed road side. I was alert to our vulnerability and the threat of being taken advantage of, but this was a regulated industry and the signage revealed a fixed price schedule. It would cost just €160 to take the car to a local garage. I recognised that this would shift the opportunity to fleece us to the garage, but it seemed obvious progress to get off the motorway.

Just prior to the breakdown sommelier winching our car onto the bed of his tow truck, we asked whether we should get in his cab. Yes, he said, but the dog wasn’t allowed so she’d need to travel in our car, alone. Unthinkable! We asked whether we could also travel in our car. Yes, he said, so in we took our positions and enjoyed a bizarre journey along the motorway, elevated and not having to drive.

We were a little worried that we might be driven to a secluded place and mugged, so we tried to google the breakdown company to see if they were reputable. The Google Translate option wasn’t especially helpful:

“Unpleasant benefits that we don’t have the cabbage”

Let’s just trust the process.

It was obvious that we wouldn’t be able to fix the car that day, so we decided we’d need a hotel for the night. The mechanic had said that he was taking us to a town called “Chalons-en-champagne” and I logged into my Accor account and booked the nearest Ibis. I could see it was around 3km outside the centre of town but given we had the dog we were happy to walk. And from the map it looked close to the sort of industrial park that might be home to our garage. We phoned my parents to tell them what happened and verify that all was well. Doing so made us confident that we’d coped with the immediate situation: the children were safe and well; the car will be at a garage; and we had somewhere to sleep that night.

On arrival at the garage we were presented with a bill for €268, which we queried. Was this the scam? But he pointed out the surcharge for a Sunday callout, which seemed reasonable, and we said farewell. It turned out that the hotel was quite far from the garage so we knew that we should take our suitcases and get a taxi. This was the first moment were travelling with the dog posed an issue, because there was a 30 minute wait for a pet friendly Uber (and a hefty premium). Annoyingly, once the driver finally arrived he said that he didn’t take pets. We went back and forth a few times before he relented, and although he convinced me that he didn’t know we had a large dog when accepting the ride, I think I convinced him that we had booked for, and were paying for, one that did. Any difference was being skimmed by Uber, and while I made a note to complain about this later, that would have to wait.

We’d taken all our valuables, our suitcase/holdall and the dog’s bed from the car and felt it was secure at the garage overnight. There wasn’t much we could do until we’d received a preliminary diagnoses from the garage, and that would be in the morning. So we checked into the hotel and decided to walk into town.

The approach was uninspiring and a little perturbing — we walked past a hospital, a prison, and what looked like a military compound. But once we reached the centre we were deeply impressed. We were aware that we were in champagne country but while Reims is its largest and most famous city, and Epernay is the touristy focal point, Chalons appears a lesser known but very beautiful town.

We ate steak frites, and as we sat in the main square noticed a steady flow of inebriated people making their way through. “It must be because of the beer festival” we overhead. A “beer festival”?! In champagne? We could get used to this place.

In a crisis it is inevitable that you have lots of questions racing through your head. Questions such as:

• Will the car be worth fixing?
• Will we need to buy a new car?
• How will we get to the Alps?
• Will the car be ready in time for us to get home?
• Have we left our passports in the glovebox?

At this point, it felt like we’d made a huge error by not realising that we didn’t have European breakdown cover. Presumably that form of insurance is designed for situations just like this, and would provide a template to follow. However, we were on our own. We faced a language barrier, financial risk, and a lack of experience and expertise.

If I were on my own, those concerns might feed into each other and I could well imagine going to sleep full of worry. Because there was two of us, however, I didn’t feel alone. Indeed we both acknowledged:

• We had our health
• We are competent adults and capable of dealing with setbacks

In some situations, such as a bereavement or serious illness, it can be hard to cope. In those crises nothing will be the same again and you have to adapt to a new reality. Our situation, however, was not terminal. We knew that we would have a period of difficulty but the result would be a return to normalcy.

We had done all that we needed to do that day, and decided to enjoy our meal. We wanted to be well fed and well rested for the morning.

Day 2: Monday

Our primary objective was to put some pressure on the garage to give us the information we’d need to make effective decisions. We also realised that we had left our passports in the glovebox and should retrieve them from the car. So my wife took an Uber back to the garage to collect those items and ask them when they’d be able to take a look at it. We had ruled out getting a hire car for two main reasons:

• They are expensive, and our travel insurance wouldn’t cover the cost.
• If the garage were able to fix our car within a day or so, we wouldn’t need one.

Given how nice Chalons was, and our need to be in a more central location, we decided to switch hotels to an Ibis Styles. We therefore gatherer our possessions and make the walk into town like travelling vagabonds.

We knew that we couldn’t make any decisions until we heard back from the garage. That information would be key to what we do next. But we also wanted to be ready to act on it. So we spent the afternoon doing two things. The first was to give the dog a long walk and enjoy some fresh air and exercise. The second was to find a nice place to get a coffee and think through some scenarios.

There were four:

1. They can fix the car quickly and easily, we carry on to the Alps
2. They can fix it in a few days, so we find another way to get to the Alps and pick it up on the way home
3. They can fix it but it will take more than a few days, we should think about how to get home and then come back for the car later
4. It costs more to fix than it’s worth, so we’d leave it here, find a way to get home, and need to buy a new car

Clearly there were two pieces of critical information (i) how much it would cost; and (ii) how long it would take. We wanted to be in a position to make a decision as soon as that information came in. Would we authorise the garage to do the repairs?

The duration of the works would determine whether we still tried to get to the Alps, but wouldn’t affect whether we fixed the car or not.

Everything hinged on cost.

Given the age of the vehicle and my wife’s prevailing concerns, it was clear that now was the time to replace it. So we knew that once we got home we would be looking to buy a new car. This meant that the value of our car, to us, was purely about getting us home and it’s value in part exchange.

So we considered the next best alternative to getting the car repaired in France. This would involve:

1. Having it repatriated to the UK (I contacted a company and got a quote for £1,895)
2. Having it fixed in the UK (which we couldn’t estimate without knowing what was wrong with it)
3. Paying to get back to the UK without a car (which we did a back of the envelope estimate of £800)

We also asked “how much would we be willing to pay to have it fixed and in England?”

I used “Webuyanycar.com” to get an estimate of it’s value, which was £3,000. And we factored in the £800 it would cost us to get it back once fixed. Therefore we had a clear number in mind: £3,800 is the most we’d pay for repairs.

We also extended our stay at the Ibis Styles by 1 night just to avoid the risk of it becoming fully booked (and knowing we could cancel that later).

Chalons seemed to be a good location to plan. The impressive Hotel des Intendants boasted (albeit I can’t corroborate this ) that Napoleon used it as a base as one point.

Channeling this energy, we started to brainstorm what each of those action plans might look like, and needed information about:

• How to ascertain if the French garage’s quote was reasonable
• How to get to the Alps without a car
• How to get back to England without a car
• Whether it’s possible to leave the car for scrap
• What kind of car we should buy when we get home (and how)
• How long we would stay in Chalons

It would have been a mistake to simply gather information though. There was too much uncertainty and there was a risk that we were attempting to solve the wrong problem.

And at that point I had a brainwave:

“What was the main reason for the trip?”

“To visit the apartment”

“Yes, but what was the main thing we needed to do while we were there?

“Take the dog to the vet to get a passport”

“Exactly!!”

We forgot all about the car and looked up vets in Chalons. There was one a 10 minute walk from our hotel and my wife phoned it up. We were booked in at 8:30am the following morning! Now, regardless of the situation with the car, we would have achieved our main objective for the trip!

Late in the afternoon we finally got a phone call from the garage. The car had been inspected the problem was that the fuel injectors needed replacing. So the good news was that it was fixable. It would cost €2,000–3,000 but would not be ready by Friday. We knew exactly what to say because we had rehearsed this. We wanted to get the car fixed in France, and they said they’d prepare a full schedule of works and a precise quote. We knew which scenario we were entering: find a way to get home then come back for the car later.

At this point it was tempting to go full steam ahead into planning mode. But we were on holiday. It was early evening and we’d spent all day gathering information and thinking about things. We made a note of the questions we had, but vowed not to answer them. We went for a meal. This was no longer an emergency situation and we wanted to mark our progress. We ordered a glass of champagne, forgot about the car, and enjoyed each other’s company.

Day 3: Tuesday

We got up early and walked to the vets. The paperwork was straightforward and although there were a few things we had to remember (e.g. get a rabies shot there and then, even if not due, and make sure it got recorded in the new passport) we succeeded.

Having completed that task — and the main reason for the whole trip — we could now focus all our attention on what to do about the car. We needed three things: wifi, plug sockets and coffee. There was a McDonald’s nearby, so we headed there.

Perhaps buoyed by obtaining the passport as we walked we discussed our situation. It became clear that even though we’d had a set back, we had perfect conditions to deal with it. We had time, resources, and each other. We just had to work out how to get home. Our attitude was a positive one, and we thought it was like being on the TV show “race across the world”. We embraced the challenge. We’re problem solvers, we can do this!

Our plan was a simple one: we’d authorised the work on the car, but it wouldn’t be ready before we were due home. We would therefore make our own way back to England and I would return at a later date to collect the car. We had two problems to solve:

1. How do we get back to England?
2. How do we buy a car that we can use soon after we get back?

The first problem was the most pressing so we focused on that. We brainstormed the different options and realised that it was more complicated than simply choosing between airplane, train, ferry or Eurotunnel. Not just because we had the dog with us, but because there were multiple combinations of options. Had there been an urgent need to get home my wife would have travelled by herself while I waited in France with the dog. However we knew that we had plenty of time (we weren’t due to collect the children until Saturday) and therefore decided to stick together.

We figured that the key issue was crossing the Channel, however, and considered three main options (shown on the map below):

• Fly from Paris to London (blue)
• Eurostar from Paris to London (pink)
• Ferry from Cherbourg, Caen, Le Havre, Dieppe or Calais (grey)
• Eurotunnel from Calais

We quickly ascertained that we can’t fly with the dog and wouldn’t put her in cargo, and that she is too large to fit on the Eurostar (apparently the rule for public transport in Paris is that any dog needs to be small enough to fit in a bag. So this precluded domestic trains as well). We tried to think openly and creatively, remembering an occasions where our Eurostar has been cancelled and we did something that no-one else even thought of to get home.

Our instinct was to consider ferries because we knew that they accepted pets, but often they need to be left in your car during the crossing. And we didn’t have a car. So the challenge was that we needed a mode of transport that accepted pets as foot passengers. My wife checked with all of the main ferry companies and we identified just two options:

• DFD ferries from Dieppe to Newhaven
• DFD ferries from Amsterdam to Newcastle

Of the two options the former was most sensible. In fact, if you look at the organe markets, you can see that it was almost perfect. We were in Chalons, south east of Reims. We wanted to get home, north of London. But our kids were with my parents in the New Forest (between Bournemouth and Southampton). And they have a French holiday home in Mons Boubert, in between Calais and Rouen. Our plan was clear:

• Book a crossing from Dieppe to Newhaven on Thursday
• Book a car hire for tomorrow (Wednesday) to empty our car, drop things off in Mons Boubert, and head to Dieppe
• Book a hotel for Dieppe on Wednesday night
• Cross as foot passengers
• Get my Dad to pick us up from Newhaven

We verified that my Dad was ok with that and I patted myself on the back for bringing the key to Mons Boubert with me (just in case!) A lot of our strategy was based on minimising the time we’d use a car hire, because we identified that as the main expense. We still didn’t have confirmation from the garage about the details of the work, and felt there was a chance that we may end up abandoning the car in France. So we wanted it to be empty.

We also realised that my parents were about to go on holiday and my mum’s car would be sat on their driveway for over a week not being used. So a second big stroke of fortune was that she would let us use her car once we got back.

It rained all afternoon and we decided to switch out attention from the short term problem of getting home to the longer term issue of replacing the car once we’d done so. We’d already rehearsed this, and considered three ways forward:

• Go to our local Honda garage and buy a 2 year old like-for-like CR-V replacement
• Buy a Skoda Kodiaq from a local Skoda dealership
• Buy either of those models from Cinch (which do you can buy same day or with home delivery)

I was also apprehensive about exactly how much the French garage would charge, and whether we’d regret not repatriating it to the UK and having the work done at home. So I called the Honda garage and ascertained that:

• They would charge £2,450 to replace the fuel injectors
• Worst case scenario, if they had to change the entire engine it would be £4k-5k
• They have several CR-Vs in stock and they’re all on the website. Ones at their branch can be driven off same day, otherwise it would be a couple of days.
• Our car was worth £2k-£2.5k in part exchange.

It was clear that we were right on the borderline between whether it was worth fixing our car or not. I therefore looked into how to abandon a car in France and saw that by law you can neither offer nor accept payment. And there was a scrap yard close to the garage. Our thinking was as follows: as long as it’s less than £3k we’ll get it fixed. As long as we can cope without a car before we get it back this will take some pressure off having a buy a new one.

I also confess to a little sentimentally. I didn’t want to just “give” the car to the garage in case we were getting scammed (although the phone call with Honda reassured me somewhat that the garage hadn’t simply quoted a price similar to the value of the car to prompt me to leave it there). But I liked this car and wanted, of possible, to bring it home.

The final phone call I made was to the Skoda garage, because I’d seen a Kodiaq that looked like it met my criteria. I’d checked with my brother-in-law and he’d said it was a good car. There was a £600 refundable desposit to “reserve” it so I paid that and agreed to test drive on Friday. This meant that we had the option of having a new car by the end of the week, and if we didn’t like it, and wanted more time to find something, we could do so.

The plan was looking good. We knew what we needed to do and still had options. We went out for dinner to the same restaurant as the first night and reflected on a busy and productive day. Today had been about planning. Tomorrow would be about movement. We finished the evening with a few glasses of champagne.

Day 4: Wednesday

I’d booked the car hire for 9am at the train station. There was a premium for a city centre pick up but I was on foot and knew today would be an effort. And indeed when it started raining, I could tell we’d be facing further challenges. I got to the car hire office (soaking wet) and it was unoccupied, so I called a number and was told that the car was at the main location. This necessitated an Uber trip and I lost 30 minutes. (And I still hold a grievance that they won’t refund the surcharge that I paid in order to pick it up at the station!)

While going through the paperwork I was told that it came with 150 kilometers per day but there was also a surcharge here, for any distance beyond that. Hang on a minute, I said, how far is it to Dieppe? I consulted Google Maps and saw the answer: 328km! I did a quick back of the envelope to see whether it would have been cheaper to hire it for two days (with a 28km surcharge) or one day (with a 178km excess). But I realised that it wouldn’t make a difference to my decision now. It might have been an error, and perhaps the policy is a bad one. But I needed to get on with things. I took the car and set off for the hotel.

The hire car was a brand new Toyota C-HR and seemed to enjoy beeping at any transgression I made. I don’t mind driving in France, but am always apprehensive in hire cars and didn’t appreciate being bombarded by information and supposed guidance while navigating the cobbled approach to the underground parking garage. The entrance was incredibly tight and I sucked in my breath as a squeezed past the concrete pillars and successfully parked without causing any scratches. I got out of the car, checked for dints, sighed a breath of relief, pressed a button to open the boot, and watched in horror as it shot up and hit the ceiling.

We checked out of the hotel and drove to the garage. The schedule of works still wasn’t ready but we figured that turning up in person was beneficial. We emptied our car, took some photos, and bade farewell. It started raining againg and we made our way to Mons Boubert. The car was due to be returned in Dieppe by 6pm so we felt somewhat hurried, and stored any non essential possessions with diligence. This was a stressful operation because we weren’t sure when we’d be able to collect them again. We obviously wouldn’t need ski wear or soft furnishings anytime soon, but it would have been a disaster to leave behind passports or anything else we might need with us. But we were heading for a ferry with a dog and wanted to travel as lightly as possible. Farewell Chalons!

We dropped off the hire car in Dieppe and that made me feel good. I’d been worried about escalating costs and with that returned I knew the upper limit of how much we’d spent. We opted for the Mercure which has nice views over the channel, and saw a message from the garage. They had sent us the full schedule of works and confirmed that it would be early next week at the earliest before it was ready. That was fine by us. We took the dog for a walk along the beach and felt good about reaching the coast.

We found a restaurant on the sea front for dinner, and a bar in the backstreets for a nightcap. All going to plan, tomorrow we’d be home.

Day 5: Thursday

When I booked the hotel it looked like a short walk to the ferry terminal, but over breakfast we realised that a crucial footbridge was closed. Fortunately we had plenty of time, but started out for a 1 hour trek through the streets of Dieppe. When you look at the map you might think that there’s a more direct route, as did we. But scaling the fence of a canning factory was beyond our inclination and we settled for the longer route. As we walked we reflected on the metaphor. We’d left some things in our car in Chalons. Piles of luggage and equipment in Mons Boubert. Now, we were literally left with what we could carry. Shedding anything superfluous. Sticking together.

The process to check and board was straightword and we met an English family in a similar situation to ours. Their car had broken down and they didn’t have breakdown cover. So they’d paid for the car to be repatriated while they made their way back by ferry. Unlike us, they had 2 small children and all of their luggage. But whereas our instinct was to hear what the French garage said and try to get the car fixed here, there’s was to get everything home. I wasn’t sure if it was the language barrier or just lack of appetite for problem solving, but was proud that our familiarity with spending time in France gave us an advantage.

The main downside of this route home was that dogs need to be kennelled. So we locked the dog and went upstairs to the cafe. We felt good about leaving France and were looking forward to being greeted by a familiar face at the other end. Our focus now was on buying a new car and retrieving ours. We laid out all of our notes and over coffee reflected on the work we’d done.

My dad picked us up from the ferry terminal and drove us to the New Forest. We were reunited with the kids and felt like we’d coped with the situation and avoided financial hardship.

Epilogue

We’d driven back to our house on the Friday and test drove the Kodiaq on the way. We felt it was too big and decided against buying it, and spent the weekend test driving other cars. We devoted significant time to decising what car to buy, and engaged in a fair amount of PSDM in order to do so. Our car was ready to collect on the Wednesday so on Tuesday night I took a Eurostar to Paris, and then next morning caught a train to Chalons. That whole journey, and hotel, cost £284.

The total bill we’d been quoted was £2,326 but for some reason they said it was going to be less than that. I drove home using the return leg of our original Eurotunnel booking, and because I didn’t have a pet with me I even got £22 refunded! The total cost outlay was as follows:

• Tow truck (Sunday): £228
• Ubers: £49
• Car hire (1 day): £337
• Ferry: £70
• Hotels (4 nights): £472
• Meals (4 nights): £224
• Car repairs: £1,911
• Repatriation: £284
• TOTAL: £3,575

Of course the story is not complete there. With our car repaired and working we no longer needed to borrow my mum’s. So on the Sunday I drove that down to the New Forest. Without transport it’s a 45 minute walk to the train station, and setting off on foot, no bags, solo, brought the whole escapade to an end. I celebrated with a whisky in a pub overlooking the station, and a suitably named can of beer for the train journey home.