With D at the wheel of the T350, and us leading we motored along with M20 to the Chunnel. It was turning out to be a nice day and there wasn’t really any traffic on the motorway. The conversation turned and twisted, taking into account some pretty diverse topics.

It was while we were discussing Ukraine, I realised we’d just passed the turnoff for the tunnel. It was pretty subtle, with only a massive sign telling travellers where to leave the motorway.

We carried on and the sat nav kindly took us around the local countryside until we came back on ourselves and dropped into the Chunnel car park.

I then learnt quickly that the makers of the Chunnel ticket machines hadn’t taken into account 20-year-old very low sportscars.

While the machine to get your ticket out was easy to use, I couldn’t really reach it. After some effort, I got to the end of the process, and the ticket popped out. This was quickly followed by a man in a uniform who then offered to help after the event.

The Chunnel car park wasn’t exactly full, I was expecting utter chaos, like when you head to an M5 service station during the school summer holidays. It did have a disproportionate number of very fancy cars though – so I assume it’s quite a thing for the good people of that South East to take their supercars to Europe for the weekend.

It did get me thinking, I’d asked D about what the train was like and he’d said there was nothing on it as the journey only took about 25 minutes when you were actually on the train.

To the people of Maidstone, Continental Europe was closer than Liverpool and heading to France was the equivalent of me going to Manchester.

I soon got over that epiphany by looking at some of the cars in the car park and then heading into the centre for a comfort break. There was a large queue for a coffee, so I forwent the caffeine hit and headed back out with the lads to get in the cars ready for the off. I also obviously got a load of grief about missing the turnoff, and the amusing way in which I got the Chunnel ticket.

Luckily this didn’t last long, as, given the racket outside, some of the other TVR chaps had already got in their cars. Sure enough, a couple of Tuscans, followed by Richie’s supercharged monster were already making a move.

We jumped in the cars and followed the rest right into a traffic jam.

The queue was however moving fast as cars were being processed through passport control. I quite liked the design whereby you went through two passport controls within 50 metres of each other, saving having a holdup on the other side.

We rolled through both pretty quickly and headed to the ramps onto the train. Luckily as I was driving we didn’t have to go in the upstairs bit of the train – I was still nervous about driving the T350, and putting a car on a train was a first in any car. All went well, and soon both the T350 and Cerbera were snug next to each other. We got out of the cars and hung about chatting about nothing in particular.

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