The moment we realised that the fish run wasn't just a nice holiday with the horses, the same as the other events we do was when we came to load the horses after the Boulogne parade.
We got back after 3 hours of steep Boulogne hills, two steps trotting and then half a kilometre walking with Rupert threatening to break into a trot every other step and Stephen growing increasingly frustrated that even after two hours Rupert was still on his toes.
We got back to the lorry to discover that despite Claire from the Working Horse Trust's best efforts, someone had parked between their vehicle and ours giving neither of us any room to load the horses and the carriage.
We still had a full evening's work ahead of us and so we couldn't afford to hang around and be British. With three forthright women and Steve no foreigner stood a chance.
We tied the horses on the back of the lorry and Jo and I unhitched and pulled the carriage out from between the boys.
Up and down the step putting the harness away between protecting the horses asses from the passing traffic and dancing round two strange ardennes who were attached to the lorry which had usurped our space. (the passing traffic were being horses asses too, but I am far too polite to say that)
That was only the beginning. We got the horses loaded and the carriage onboard then we needed to actually maneouvre Steves 32ft horsebox off the quay at Boulogne sur Mer.
We were fighting against the other members of the parade, the competitors for the boat pull, myriad unconscious pedestrians and cocksure Bretons who thought it amusing to pretend to scream as Jo manoevred the lorry in such a nightmare space.
With the help of a genuinely helpful frenchman we brought the quay to a standstill and successfully reversed the lorry and made our escape, only to be stopped by Robert Sampson on the way out of the gate to be told that one of the stages that Jo & Sue had carefully prepared for the Route had changed as one of the team's horses had gone lame.
No, now we realise this is not just a pleasure trip, there is a serious purpose and a competition to be won on the morrow.
