We left Germany for the last time and moved to Belgium. The scenery slowly changed from rolling hills and green fields to much more urban and then industrial scenery.

The rain returned as a persistent drizzle as we joined the A52 and followed the River Meuse into the heart of the city. It had gotten dark now and the rhythmic beating of the windscreen wipers and the traffic reminded me of my old commutes into Liverpool. The slow crawl of traffic would have been welcome to take in the views, but it was hard to see much and we were getting tired of trying to work out which turn-off we were meant to be taking amongst all the drivers who knew where they were going.

The road crossed over a tributary canal to the Meuse, its inky blackness at odds with the bright lights of cars and streetlights. We headed over Pont Albert Ler, an unremarkable bridge, which delivered us into the very centre of Liège.

The main roundabout we were meant to take was essentially closed, so we made an executive decision and went the wrong way around it. In front of us, the impressive Gare Liège-Guillemins loomed out of the darkness, its slender concrete design making it look like the petrified remains of a massive long dead sea creature.

Passing a couple of bars we took a right and ended up edging through the narrow gateway into the Ibis hotel, the engine noise reverberating off the the enclosed courtyard. We cut the engines and got out. With the cacophony over, Liege seemed very quiet.

But where were all the other TVRs? We were in the right place, but nothing else was here.

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