500 out

After Katherine's french lesson and a visit to the MBH* with our friends in the morning, and then a long lunch and a nap, we headed into town for the main event of the day: the arrival of the Tour de France. Lavaur was at the end of stage 11.

We arrived in time to see the publicity caravan come through - and I have never seen anything like it. Sponsoring companies send three or four vehicles through and they throw freebies out to the crowds. The sight of dignified looking grown men and women scrabbling on the ground for a free keyring or hat was quite something. Of course we did our own share of scrabbling and came away with quite a haul of stuff. Including enough haribo sweeties to keep the kids happy for weeks. (Next time I must remember to take a proper bag - cramming everything into the space in my camera bag left when I took my camera out was all very well, but made things a little awkward when the rain started pouring down and I wanted to put my camera away. Instead I sheltered it under a couple of the giant green hands that had been hurled my way.)

An extremely kind couple had let us have one of their spaces at the barrier so Katherine could grab the freebies easier (it turned out they live in our village and went to school with our landlord's mum). When the time finally came for the cyclists to zip by, I was allowed to squeeze to the front and take a few shots. The rain, gloominess of the day, shaking of the barrier and my general sense of panic at the tales of the inevitable crashes and cyclists crashing into the barriers, means that the shots are not brilliant - but I quite like this one.

(The route bent to the right where I was crouching - I hadn't just run out into the middle of the road.)

We headed home to get dry clothes, while our friends went to the finish to see some of the presentation. Then we regrouped and visited a few bars, munched some pancakes and chips, tried an American sandwich (burger and chips in a baguette - the Americans at the next table were as mystified about the name as we were), searched in vain for a jazz band that was supposed to be playing, then home. Our friend, K, has a special connection with the Tour as his Dad was in it many times in the 60s. Many cracking tales of contretemps with gendarmes and the like, and sad stories too like when his friend died on the Tour. One of the sponsors of his team was Pelforth brewery, so we celebrated with a few cans of their beer, and then a few glasses of the delicious whisky our friends had brought down for us, and then with possibly a little more wine than was advisable. Mr B had an impromptu physio session from N (she is a physio) and we all retired to bed far too late.


*Which should possibly be rechristened MWBH after last night's rain left rivers running down the stairs. The roofers can't start for another two weeks.