As soon as you get off the ferry in Cherbourg you are always faced with the prospect of a long wait to pass by the police in immigration.
The French believe in making this a fairly intimidating procedure and the soldiers by whom you have to pass are usually fairly taciturn and armed with guns.

On Saturday last we eventually inched our way up the line until we were stopped by the grumpy looking soldier on duty.

“What it you are transporting in this vehicle” he said in French.

“A kitchen” I said apprehensively.(Were we going to have to unpack the lot for him?)

But suddenly the brotherhood of food surfaced.

” A kitchen ” he said with a huge grin “But that is a good thing”
And with a smile he waved us through.