Hitting the road in a test of the bonds that tie us

IF you ever want to test parental, familial and romantic bonds to see how cool-headed you really are, how much you actually love your children, and how strong your relationship is, pile them all into the car.

Add tents, hammocks, gas stoves, camping chairs, fairy lights, folding tables, lilos, rucksacks and a satnav that speaks French in an middle-class English accent, and hit the road, hoping the 14-year-old Fiat will hack the 2000km round trip without adding to the potential explosiveness of an already volatile cargo.

Since our last visit, France, like pizza dough, seems to have been stretched even longer and wider. Never mind. We will stick to the peage because those lovely wide smooth French motorways are always empty and worth the wads of cash they demand every few dozen kilometres. Plus we have lots of in-flight entertainment to keep us engaged on our monster drive, and more importantly, to keep the sole driver — moi — from falling asleep during endless stretches of Brittany, Normandy and the Atlantic Coast.