Apologies for the Holiday programme interrupting the restoration thread – just think of it as a road test report 
We had a family gathering to get to on Sunday afternoon in Surrey, so looking at how far away it was, I said I’d book a hotel for the Saturday night. After aimlessly clicking away on random websites and finding no interesting places that weren’t full or outrageously expensive, I had the daft idea of staying in France instead 
A quick visit to EuroTunnel.com told me I could get a return trip for the price of a tank of fuel, and another couple of minutes searching had me phoning Monsieur Philippe Caillet, proprietor of Hotel Diamant in the picturesque little town of Arras – about an hour south-east of Calais (and far enough away from the general grottiness of the coast).
The plan was duly hatched, with minor issues, such as whether the Capri would even make it, pushed to the back of my mind. 
We set off around half eight on Saturday morning, just as it started pissing down yet again 
The weather kept improving though as we made our way south, and it was still great to see all the reactions of folk as we went along – smiles, pointing, waving, even one bloke in a new Golf slowed right up on the M6 Toll and sat behind us taking pictures with his camera phone for a minute or so We saw a fair few retro cars, but nothing older than an early Sierra from the Ford camp. Oh, apart from a Mk1 Capri heading northbound around Haydock. This Mini reminded us of the similar Mk1 Escort combo we’d seen at the Classic Ford show this year.
After something like six hours we were halfway down the M20 when the needle on the temperature guage decided it didn’t like the left-hand side any more and shot over to the right, closely followed by steam from the expansion tank blowing out from under the bonnet and that putrid smell of boiling coolant coming through the vents. 
Heading straight off the motorway we ended up in the car park of some kind of “authentic country pub” and pulled up to let everything cool down. The expansion tank was bubbling away, but after about fifteen minutes the system made that slightly disconcerting gurgling wooshy sound as it sucked everything back into the radiator. pray: The barmaid took pity on us as “her dad had an old car like that” years ago, and provided further drinks for both us and the car in what was now about thirty degree sunshine.
Replenished, we were back on the road and Selina was still trying to guess where we were going as we rapidly approached the edge of the map. She couldn’t quite believe it when I turned off to the Channel Tunnel terminal and even went as far as accusing me of being “sneaky” when I casually suggested she got the passports and tickets out of the glovebox 
In the queue for Customs a ridiculously enthusiastic chap in a new Range Rover kept shouting over to us and giving us a thumbs up. We couldn’t make out a word of what he was saying so we just smiled and waved back Ten minutes later we were tucked up on the train and ready for the off.
At the other end, we were straight out and onto the A26 before you could say “Bienvenue”, taking it gently as all the other Brits hurtled past in their rush to get “there” – wherever “there” was 
We arrived at Arras in the early evening and parked up in the middle of Place des Héros, which a couple of hours earlier would have been bustling with the Saturday market.
As I snapped shut the Disklok over the steering wheel before going to check in at the hotel, two thoughts smashed into my mind like a pair of rampaging JCBs –
- The Disklok is remarkably secure and has proven to be so in repeated tests at the Thatcham Institute and a multitude of other places, and fitting it is a really important aid to the rather lacklustre security of the Capri
- The key for it is attached to my Impreza keys in the kitchen at home
It’s at that point one thinks “bugger” and goes in search of a rather large gin The chap on the emergency line for RAC European Breakdown said “bugger” too when I explained what I’d done, but reassuringly said he’d get his chap in the area to send a man out first thing in the morning and to not let it worry me 
Half an hour after he was due to turn up (this is France after all), Jacques Barbier rolled into the square in his very yellow truck, explaining he was late as he’d had to wait for his wife to get ready so that he could bring her into town to go shopping 
Much discussion ensued, though I obviously didn’t know the phrase for “you can’t drill the lock out” as he killed two drill bits trying. Give him his dues though, he kept attacking it with everyhing he had, working up to an air saw and some kind of hydraulic bolt cutter thingummy. After fifty relentless minutes he threw the Disklok onto the cobbles…
They may not like our cooking, but he was mighty impressed with how well the Disklok protected the car – and how much attention it generated when you tried to remove one in a public car park
With our mood lightened, we had a nice chat with Jacques about the town and the area, and he recommended that we climb the belfry tower to get a fantastic view on such a clear day. Unfortunately, we were now running quite late and didn’t have the time, but we’re going back to this lovely little town at some point so will do it then 
Heading back up the A26 towards Calais, we passed the impressive Canadian National Vimy Memorial. My great grandfather is buried down the road from here, but we didn’t have time to stop, unfortunately.
By this point, the midday sun was beating down and it was hovering around thirty four degrees – meaning the Capri was suffering a little. Running into a “bouchon” (queue) at the toll booths for the peage was the final straw and we pulled onto the hard shoulder to let everything cool down once more. Plenty of people asked if we needed help as they crawled past, before a Gendarme with a sense of humour bypass waltzed up and asked why we were blocking his circulation He was having none of our requests to just wait another five minutes and shoo-ed us back out into the traffic at which point I thought “sod this for a game of soldiers” and whacked the hazards on, dived back onto the hard shoulder and trundled up the hill past most of the queue. Apologies if you were stuck too…
The rest of the trip back across the water and to Surrey was pretty uneventful, and we turned up at the family do only an hour or so late, but the surprise trip to France gained me massive points with grandma and I think we got away with it. Turns out Selina’s cousin used to have a Mk3 2.0S, and you could tell she missed it
Finally escaped to head back up north around half past seven, and got to meet lots of rude and inconsiderate drivers on the M25 
Worse though was the driver of the Tate & Lyle tanker who was asleep at the wheel just south of Stoke and nearly took out a coach before he woke up If it was you, I hope you pulled over before the Police reached you, as we know they were on their way.
Finally reached home at around half past midnight – totally knackered, but we both had a fantastic time. 753 miles in 40 hours ain’t bad for a near thirty year old car