10pm on day of departure - well, 2 days after planned departure. I should've known it was unlikely that we'd leave at midday when Tim announced upon waking that he only had 10 minutes of packing left to do then he was ready.
Admittedly, losing the car keys (in my pocket) for an hour at 5pm wasn't helpful and neither was the pile of shite Mont Blanc rip off roof box which refused to shut if it had more than an ounce of stuff in it - but even so, this was pushing it even by our standards.
However, managed to creep onto a rigidly ruled Caravan Club campsite in Kent at 3am (no dogs allowed - sneaked them in, luckily both terrified and silent), had a glass of Banners and last smoke ever then snooze. Punctured airbed meant freezing cold, uncomfortable night, fully clothed and broken sleep.
Coffee and faff in the sun led to mad 80mph dash to Dover to make it for the ferry. Expected load of dog hassle as hadn't booked them on ferry or paid for them - there was none. Got on ferry - and watched the white cliffs disappearing. Felt the need for a drink which meant I was excited but no outward sign of emotion from the Squires other than a fear of driving on the wrong side of the road. There was a tad more sentimentality from the Layton.