Finally back in UK waters after a long and rather queasy journey from St Malo. Sophie is esconced in the TV room, Greg has just bought himself a set of Top Trumps, Kate is sleeping and I'm working my way through a bottomless cup of coffee.

The ferry crossing was already delayed by an hour from the previous run being held up. Then someone drove their caravan into the side of the car deck, and a rival ferry company decided to cancel a sailing to the channel islands resulting in this ship being packed to bursting with caravans and motorhomes. Departure from St Malo, which should have been a respectable 8.10pm, ended up being about quarter past ten, and our ETA in Poole is now about 2 in the morning. The seven hours between then and starting work will have to be evenly divided between sleep and driving the 160 miles between Poole and Leicester. Now you get why I'm pleased Kate was able to get to sleep.

Just grabbing five minutes in an internet cafe (where the kind man installed PuTTY so that I could fix my mail server) to report that we're all having a great time in France. But typing anything on this French keyboard is almost impossible, so for full details you will have to wait until we get home. It's not just that the letters are in the wrong order, but the @ sign is hidden in the most impossible place - so just checking your email seems to require re-wiring of the keyboard.

Touch typing is a real pain right now!

We've made family trips to the Tolpuddle Martyr's Festival since the very first year that they allowed camping - in a recently-mown corn field that was still very spiky with stubble. We, and especially the children, have grown up with Tolpuddle, appreciating the new features each year: hot showers, children's entertainment, music on the Saturday, and more recently, the Friday night, and food now on sale throughout the weekend. That first year we went to Tolpuddle our only hope for Saturday lunch was a pasty bought from the village petrol station.

The petrol station closed the next year, and this year we noticed that a block of flats has been buit where it used to stand. Bad news for the villagers but no bother for us since the caterers at Tolpuddle now serve food from Friday until Monday.

Unison's Health Service Group Executive AGM is over, and we're heading to Trowbridge for the Folk Festival and the start of our holiday.

I don't think I can write a full report of the meeting on my BlackBerry whilst driving down the M6 (I know, I know, I'm a diletante) but I will just comment on the most important debate: that on the question of re-opening year two of the three-year pay deal.

There was a unanimous view that the re-opener clause will almost certainly need to be triggered. There was little or no support for the idea of Unison trying to re-negotiate the first year increase.

Tony Benn was on very good form in what amounted to a sermon on Tolpuddle Martyr's Field this afternoon. Directing his comments to the new generation of trade unionists he set out what can only be described as commandments: don't be demoralised, don't be divided, and don't be cynical.

Last night Mark Steel had done a pretty accurate and very funny impression of Tony Benn, in the course of which he talked about how when Tony Benn spoke at rock festivals he got encores like all the best acts. Sure enough, the Tolpuddle crowd bayed for more, and out he came to tell us a couple more stories. Closing he delivered a perfect warning to young workers.

TUC General Secretary addressed the Tolpuddle crowd. He was all shirt sleeves and open collar: the union bureaucracy on their day off, clearly. His speech was presumably intended to sound left-wing: he demanded various things from the government, paid tribute to striking workers and talked about the trade unions fighting for their rights.

But it struck me that the exact same speech could have been made ten years ago. Indeed it probably was. Saying that you want the government to "put fairness at the heart of its programme" is only something you could say if you didn't know we'd had a Labour government for the last eleven years. A Labour government which has pretty systematically gone about doing the exact opposite.

Once again Tolpuddle is blessed with fantastic weather. And the trade unionosts of South West England (and beyond) turned out in their thousands to commemorate the Tolpuddle Martyrs and renew their commitment to the class struggle. Here they all are...

After eight miles and nearly three hours we're within sight (and sound) of the Martyr's Field. I can hear the dulcet tones of my own union General Secretary wafting out over the fields. But I can't quite make out what he's saying!

Half way from Dorchester to Tolpuddle we pass the cottage in which Thomas Hardy was born. Very pretty.

A little-known feature of the Tolpuddle festival has been an eight-mile "hike for freedom" organised by the Prison Officers' Association from Dorchester jail to the Tpuddle site - retracing in reverse the route taken by the original Tolpuddle martyrs.

So at 9 this morning about two dozen of us from the camp came over to Dorchester and began the two-hour walk back to the campsite. Hopefully by the time we get there Kate will have figured out how to get the tent down.