We slept like royalty on wheels in the motorhome area of Montebourg. Not a car passing, not a noisy human, not a drunken Irishman singing ballads. We had water nearby, civilised rubbish bins (in Ireland throwing rubbish away was like solving a ninja riddle!) and absolute silence. I stretched out in bed like a hot croissant and Daddy Edu also snored with a soundtrack, but softly.

We woke up late, but really late. Not that "ten o'clock" late, no: we started the car at two in the afternoon or thereabouts. The level of post-boat tiredness was high. I didn't care, I was still dreaming of French biscuits.

In half an hour we arrived at the coast, at a place that sounds like a war movie and biscuits: Utah Beach. One of the five D-Day landing beaches in nineteen forty-four. The American troops came in here, and now you come in with your dog and a Tupperware container of tortilla. We parked in an area with more memorials than seagulls: the Memorial du Débarquement, the Leclerc Memorial and the 8th Infantry Division Memorial. Each one has statues, plaques, flags and that solemn air of "something huge and serious happened here". Between them were original military vehicles: jeeps, trucks and wheeled beasts that still smell of historical metal.

We went down to the beach and... saaaand! Free paws, ears in the wind and me running as if a bulldog with taxes was chasing me. The beach is long, flat and with that wind that messes up your ideas. There are half-blown bunkers, huge concrete blocks where frightened humans used to hide, and the rusty remains of a vessel that is still there more than eighty years later, as if saying: "I'm not moving even at high tide".

Then we went back to the car and drove on for just a few minutes to the Musée du Débarquement de Utah Beach. I stayed in the camper, watching out that no seagull tried to colonise my bowl. Daddy went into the museum, which is right where the troops landed. Inside there are tanks, weapons, uniforms and a very detailed history of what happened that day. There is also a huge B-26 bomber inside the building, an immersive movie and panels with the names of soldiers. Daddy came out with a face that said "it's been good, but my brain doesn't absorb any more war for today".

As it was already quite late, we had lunch in the camper, parked by the side of the road. Daddy opened the fridge, took out what was left and I did an official floor inspection in case anything fell. Then it was time to find somewhere to spend the night, because wars are for learning, but rest is for continuing to live.

We went to Isigny-sur-Mer, where there is an official motorhome area with eight spaces... ha. Eight spaces they say. There were about twenty-five or thirty vehicles packed in side by side, door to door, window to window, almost sharing toothbrushes. That looked like a Tetris of campers in apocalypse mode.

But fifty metres away there was another car park: a grassy field next to a park, also on Park4Night. And it was completely empty. No cars, no motorhomes, no snoring humans. Views of the green, soft ground and zero wind. Daddy said "we'll plant ourselves here" and I adopted my official guardian of the French lawn posture.

So today I have run on historical sand, smelled a rusty tank, rested in a museum without going in and ended the day in a meadow with no neighbours. If this isn't quality of life, let the multilingual border collies come and explain it to me.