Another day, another country

Another 744 miles/1190 km on the clock, including a night in another reasonably competent hotel.  I start to tire of the long journey, but must admit that there’s always something different.  This time we were leaving the UK at the same time as some of the Hooray Henry tendency who take it upon themselves to hurtle across Europe in extravagant motor cars at appalling speeds, glorifying their conspicuous consumption as a ‘Cannonball Run’.  We were alongside a couple of Ford Mustangs at the tunnel péage yesterday morning.  I read that one of the participants was picked up doing 178 km/h on a departmental road (limit: 90 km/h) in his Ferrari.  Good.  I hope it was impounded and forfeited. 

Coming in the other direction were countless fancy sports cars returning far more moderately to UK from the 24 heures du Mans, which finished the previous afternoon.  I have never seen so many Ferraris, Maseratis, Lotus, Aston Martins and Porsches – and of these last, some over 40 years old.  At one point five Bentleys (of the current hairdressers’ and WAGs’ variety) were coming up the opposite carriageway in close formation (honorable mention for the best collective noun received by Friday – a Bouffant of Bentleys?).  The most unusual of the endless cavalcade was a Gordon-Keeble.  Anyone remember them?  Corvette engine and transmission; Italian sports saloon bodywork, precisely 100 built.  One or two other heroic examples, including an Escort Mexico and a rather tired looking Mini-Cooper.  And a Daimler SP250 on a flatbed truck.  For a short while we were behind an empty car transporter, no doubt on its way to collect half a dozen broken down Alfa Romeos.  The exotica thinned out after the A28 junction, and with the exception of the behaviour of some inbred moron in the Allier who seemed to take great exception at finding he was being overtaken just as he decided to veer out unannounced into the outside lane, the journey was largely uneventful.  The VW bumbled along at a regulated speed according to the limit at the time – usually an indicated 85 m/h on its over-reading speedo – and overall did more than 40 miles to each gallon of heavy oil.

Of the Campanile in Issoire, bôf.  Clean and comfortable, and with delightful staff at the reception desk, but the heating and a/c didn’t work, and the free wifie was hopeless.  The adjacent Courtepaille was OK, but got upset when I mentioned that Martyn’s lamb had tasted of kerosene firelighters.  Another one bites the dust.  Fast food joint, granted, but with a bill of €56 for two, non-optional service compris, one might expect better.

Here in Lagrasse, the building work seems good, so far as it goes, but the builder has yet to clear some rubble from the roof terrace and tile the shower room window ledge.  The neighbour has served on me his meter readings for water and electricity, to be settled when the bills come in.  I think the total could amount to as much as €2.50 plus VAT.  If he’d said ‘give us a pony’, I wouldn’t have argued.  As usual we have bumped into a number of friendly neighbours already, and I am working on my ability to adapt to The Way We Do Things Around Here.  It shouldn’t take too long.  Still not quite there, however, after 15 years.