I don’t usually experience writer’s block, but today I’m most certainly suffering from Brexit-brain.

Brexit’s all I can watch, think about, and worry about.

Admittedly my Brexit pre-occupations are almost certainly not the same as most people’s, but the spectre of crashing out of Europe on April 12 remains a distinct possibility as I settle to write the column.

If we crash out on April 12, I’ll be aiming to arrive in Roscoff, Brittany, with Poppy the Pug x JRT early that day.

The once weekly Thursday night service on the Pont Aven leaves Plymouth on April 11 – the only way to travel that route with my dog because the ship has kennels.

On other crossings dogs stay in their cars, but Poppy doesn’t have the luxury of that option.

The dog basket on my bike isn’t somewhere I could leave her for eight hours or so.

I can barely believe we might crash out of Europe, but, if we do, the only way dog and I shall get to France before July is to leave beforehand. Poppy can travel out on her Pet Passport which will be valid. She will have a rabies titration done before we leave.

My husband will bring out certification when he travels in August and with that our dog can return.

My bike shall be serviced in two day’s time – just in case.

I’m starting to amass my maps and bicycle touring guide books – just in case.

I’m searching out my gear and placing it neatly in dri-sacks on the guest room bed – just in case.

All the while my brain tells me I’m slightly crazy: it also instructs me to depart these shores early in order to cycle-tour with my dog.

If I was set to cycle from B&B to B&B that would be one thing, but I camp and I’ve cycled in France during May and it’s been a pretty chilly experience.

When the outside air temperature drops below six degrees at night I wear a hat and socks and all my clothes and pull up my sleeping quilt which I can fasten round my neck to exclude draughts.

I just about keep warm and it’s not a lot of fun getting up in the morning and making a run for the campsite toilet block when the temperature hasn’t even hit double figures.

And I don’t have the space for cooking gear so no warming cups of tea or coffee unless camper van folk take pity on me (which they sometimes do) or there’s an open cafe nearby...

I do hope when I settle down to write my next column I’ll still be at home contemplating pushing off in the middle of May.

But if not, I’ll be cycling southward as quickly as possible via the Brest-Nantes canal and France’s west coast toward warmer climes.

I enjoyed cycling along the Garonne between Bordeaux and Toulouse two years ago so I might aim for the route between the Atlantic and the Mediterranean...

Oh! I’m listening to the news again. I can see I might find myself with a last minute booking on April 11 only to find a longer extension is granted at the very last minute on the 12th – in which case I needn’t have left early. What a to-do.

In nine days time I might be en route to France. “What do you think Pops?” I asked the dog tickling her under her chin. She stared at me forlornly (her default expression) as if to say “I think we’re barking mad.”