Bonjour! It’s that time – there’s only one game in town and it’s called, ‘Le Tour’. Ken Livingston’s ego trip and the stages Viktor calls; “watchin’ paint dry!” are behind us, so are the Alps. Tomorrow it’s the first time trial then it’s the Pyrennes; sprinter and transition stages; the final tt and Paris. God-willing, we’ll be there all the way. We arrived at Perpignan around 6.00, local time, it’s nearly 9.00 now and we’ve still got our accreditation to collect at Castres.
Wheels for the trip, is a Renault Clio, the air-con and stereo and iPod work, that’s all you need really.
Grace Jones is telling us about ‘la vie en rose’, so we can’t complain – even although we’ve got to drive all the way to Toulouse after we get our creds.
It was cold and grey when I left Dysart at 06.30, Stanstead wasn’t cold, but the rain was apocalyptic, so it was nice to feel the warm breeze on our skin as we walked down the steps at Perpignan.
Castres – the salle de presse is still open but the permanence is closed, so we can’t get our creds.
C’est la vie, we’ll get them tomorrow at Albi before the time trial.
The trouble is that we could have driven straight to our digs at Toulouse by now, never mind.
It’s 55 kilometres to Toulouse and French drivers are still as bad as ever. There are always debates about why there are so many deaths on French roads – it’s simple; they are all deranged.