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"Bert you gotta come. It is Arnauds wedding. It’ll be mad. Just think Jim, Jon, you and me. We could take a car go a few days earlier make a trip of it."
"I’m not sure.......OK I’ll go. What are we going to get Arnaud though?"
"It has to be something English, something good."
"How about a fitted Hamper?"
"Nice one Jim you’ve got it!"
Where the F is Jon, Andy thought waiting at Victoria. He said Six pm. Jim and James will be half way to Portsmouth by now. I bet he doesn’t even have a ticket yet. Should’ve known should’ve got one for him. No wonder James told me to meet him. The train goes in 10 minutes, I’m not standing all the way with this bloody hamper. Five minutes tick by. Jon shows his face sure enough no ticket. Just get a ticket to East Croydon it’ll get past the barriers and we can get the train. “Sorry I’m late” says Jon “I was in a meeting, thought I’d plenty of time, luckily other people knew better and chucked me out.” We make the train. The text messages are already flashing. ‘Did you make the train?’ ‘Did Jon?’ ‘Yes, just.’ The reply. ‘Though Jon might get chucked off for not having the right ticket’ That was just the start of things to come.
The group finally assembled. Cabin Boy, Lassie, Baby and Keysey,sorry I mean Barbara. Finally off to France to see another of the mighty 32 get hitched. The plans all made this was it. Off to the ferry terminal for the night crossing. First the mad woman in the queue in front. She looked like she was a smuggler with a fully laden Volvo. Knew the prices of Vodka and beer rather too well and clearly didn’t care whether her son was an alcoholic or not. We couldn’t shake her. She was everywhere. In the queue on the car deck, then in the bloody lounge. Then the first major conversation. A tick off the boys list. A shaven raven had been captured by one amongst the group, with studded tongue to boot. The rest where intrigued. Questions everywhere. Then the mighty survey started. Do you think she is, or her, or her? Raven, Runway or Bellamy Beard? A topic which would start to resonate beyond the end of the trip. James was to be driving in the morning, for the rest of us the course of action was clear. A bar crawl in the never closing bars. There may only be two but by God we would crawl back and forth if need be. Our luck was up, a friendly (well towards Jim anyway) stewardess told us a special was on £2.50 for a double vodka and dash. It was surely fated. We piled outside and waited for the bars to open as Portsmouth and, for Andy anyway, some old stamping grounds slipped by into the night. ‘BING BONG. THE BARS ARE NOW OPEN’ That was it we piled into the bars. A few beers to get settled. A slightly loud moment when we started singing along to the awful piano player. Then we were off. The next bar we said and were off. The last beers were consumed and the DVC’s began. The wonderful entertainment finished, the stop ups one by one filed out and we were left just three of us. DVC’s, Pernod and black. The drinks started flowing, the chat with the crew was flowing. Then the games called. Clutching our drinks it was on the machines. Rally, Speed race. Then it beckoned. The lure of phone a friend was too much we set up outside ‘Who wants to be a Millionaire’ We soon were five up, then it was ten, then fifteen. Only one away. Oh the fates turned on one unlucky gamble. Still the guaranteed prize was ours and down into the first bar this went. Only we were up, the bar man was cleaning. Jim swift of thought had a plan. He could just help himself to a LITTLE free beer. It was too easy. Luckily Jon stepped up then. Filled himself a pint, helped himself to a Danish. The poor man didn’t notice for a good ten minutes, despite Jon deliberately drinking and eating every time the guy looked at him. Then… ‘I didn’t serve you that, did I!, It is lucky my manager didn’t see, would’ve cost my my job’ Chucking out with contempt the Danish and pint. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to.’ says Jon ‘I’ll pay.’ It is too late though, with a hurt look the barman refuses to accept Jon’s money condemning him to a guilt ridden morning. Jon pays the price though by hurling his guts up. Must be the wind??? Jim and I catch the last hour for sleep on the floor. Then it beckons. France awaits.
As our wheels bumped off the ramp we knew that the main part of the trip was just beginning. Jim, guiding, James driving we headed for the Pont de Normandie and South towards Angers. Over the bridge and into the country and then the sledgehammers came down first Jon, then Jim then with the breakfast stop in site Andy, all out for the count. By 9 we had stopped in Alencon. Where dissent broke out amongst the ranks. Without a care in the world except for his belly, Andy bought a Danish pastry whilst the others strolled into town. When they realised scorn fell from the high-heavens as the other three turned their backs on Andy and relegated him to being the Waterboy and fetching the drinks. After a Croque and having not quite forgiven Andy the travellers were off again pushing ever Southwards. It was on this leg of the journey that something amazing happened. They sat taking in the countryside as they speed over hill and down dale when suddenly they heard. Faintly at first, then, becoming increasingly loud a joyous sound to the party. There out of a simple tape player came a wondrous omen. A roadtrip anthem to end all roadtrip anthems. Yes 5ive’s Keep on Movin’ came like a bolt out of the blue. They turned to one another knowing. YES. THIS IS OUR SONG. The miles came and went and there it was Angers. A camping plan was hatched and away to the tourist office. Four lovely ladies surveyed us and directed us on out to the countryside and camping. We made good time. First going the wrong way, then not been able to turn around for ages. It was then on a low that one of the party felt the icy hand of motor trade. A bill unbelievable in its magnitude was levied against Jim for his fair chariot to be repaired. He sat unseeing, mumbling the cost again and again. It was then we helped out as only we can. By putting the boot in. We were along the Loire recceing the campsites. A lunch was sort by the river. The tune was played the boys danced, Jim showed off his pants and a great roadtrip conversation was had. CLASSIFIED. Just touching fabric though Jon, eh. We found the campsite of choice. A nice pad was picked out and the boys went running for the pool. The heat was immense but one bomb into that pool was enough to wake the party back to the full. A bombing competition began. We then sat back. Enjoyed the sun until we were just about to burn then fell into a warm comfy doze in the shade. Awakened by annoying kids, Jim and Andy surveyed the scene. Oh Jon and James must be at the car. James was Jon wasn’t. Jon was plotting his ultimate downfall from manhood. It was disturbing to witness. A grown man plotting his own downfall. He had it all, the trip, the girl and two tickets to the fourth days play of the final Ashes series at the Oval. What did he do. He decided he was going to give up, yes readers, give up his tickets and take his girlfriends nephew and niece to the zoo instead. I’m telling you there is nothing more distressing than seeing a man throw away his own spirit. Still he does like to be called Barbara so it wasn’t all together unexpected. As we were beginning to attract flies we put up the tents showered and then Jim and Andy went shopping. They had to drive for miles to get to the supermarket so helped themselves to a couple of cheekies before heading back. The night was set it would be a barbie. The boys had important business in town though so it was off to the village centre. They arranged themselves so they could all survey the only girls in the town sitting at an opposite bars and set about relaxing thoroughly. The beer and conversation flowed but all to quickly the time for talk was at an end. The competition was about to begin. The made there way down to the river for the ten year one throw only skimming stone championships. They choose there stones shifting the wheat from the chaff. Then silence fell the throwing promontory stood waiting, the very wind itself fell silent in anticipation. First up Andy. A mighty throw over 15 skims until it was lost into the sun and a new PB for the Baby. A buzz greeted that first throw it set a mighty standard. James next. 1,2 and in, again a PB. Jim another mighty effort 12 before the stone slipped for the last time beneath the waves. Then Jon. The atmosphere was electric. He threw 1.2.3.4.6.9.13.14.15.16 and beyond. He would stand as the champion for a decade to come.
The evening drew in to signal the end of competition and the group returned to their barbeque of steak in pancakes and a few cheekies.The Sun beckoned us up off the hard ground. Today was a day for fun. James had already been to the shops and Jon was just returning from his run. Then Jon noticed the mosiquito bite and Andy’s jaw. ‘Bloody Hell, mate. You’ve got a David Coultard chin’ Much laughter followed as they all realised Andy’s bite had swelled up in the night and now made his jaw look ridiculous on one side’. ‘Oh great’ said Andy ‘That has killed any chance of pulling’. All betting swung to Jim. The day promised fine hot weather a plan was hatched to hire bikes and go cycling. As Andy headed into town for bite cream, Jon, Jim and James broke camp and hired the bikes. The choice for bikes was limited. Jim and James got nice bikes while Jon and Andy where relegated to ladies bikes. A great plan with one slight hitch. After all took the piss out of Jon and Andy when they saw their bikes, Jim realised his tyre was flat. On departure he sought to get a pump. Great no valve, he would have to take the kids bike or the owners. So he plumped for the owners. We were not five minutes out of camp when Jim’s first problem happened. Applying the front brake a retaining ring failed leaving the front brake useless. Then after only ten minutes he complained that the rear bearing was ‘buggered’ and he was riding ‘a f’ing deathtrap’. Jim’s luck with cycling had followed him to France from the London to Brighton rides. Still we eventually made good progress as we headed across Le Loire and towards a Roman amphitheatre. We arrived at the amphitheatre where we waited for Jim on said deathtrap. We only had ten minutes till the site closed so we locked Jim’s bike up and ran in. We were first greeted by some freaky 10 foot tall figures. Looking distinctly X-files’ish they were quite freaky , they were meant to look Roman, well I suppose they did wear red! Into the mighty amphitheatre and the games began. Jon on his high from the skimming championships drew his wrestling circle on the ground taking on all comers. First Jim. Gallantly he tried a foot out and it was over. Next Andy. A deft spinning move and the opponent was again out. James stepped up and again was repelled. Jonus VICTOR. He felt he had to try to regain some of his lost manhood. To soon the time was up and the bikes were remounted. On down the riverside until a vast sandbank was in reach. Discarding the bikes the four travellers made their way across the burning hot sand under the merciless sun. The river groaned past in the heat. As the travellers made there way out to the far edge of the sandbank. James and Jim had had enough and returned to the shade, but lo. What is that in the distance. A random pile of wood. Jon and Andy decided to intrepidly investigate until they got bored and went back anyway. All too soon it was time to return to town. After all lunch was calling. They descended into town where much Oringina was consumed with the croques and frites. The decision was then made for another swim. Piling back to the campsite it was straight in for another bombing while Keysey got a trim in the hair salon (another sign of womanisation). Bombing away, slightly distracted by a very beautiful young lady, the boys wasted away the time until it was time for the roadtrip to be on the road again. The car loaded the spirits high the song blasting out it was on. On to Angers. The four returned to the tourist office arranged accommodation in their fluent French and asking the girl if she’d come out for a drink with them that night (the answer, silence). They piled through town not stopping for the growing number of paparazzi asking ‘Les Anglais?’ and into their new rest stop. They rested and got ready till it was time to meet. ‘What time shall we meet?’ ‘8’ ‘OK’. Jim and Andy in the bar at eight on the dot. A quick seize cent soixante quatre and nothing. Jon, James. Nowhere. So another round. Finally after 30 mins they turned up. Into town they piled and along to the centre ville. Picking a spot outside they sat down for dinner. A disturbance soon occurred, however, when the local ‘boys in the hood’ turned up in the convertible. The music was loud the parking lousy. Thrice they attempted to park. Thrice they failed. Fourth time and luck. Then at the exact moment they turned off the stereo the sound of ‘Les Anglais’ clapping them reached their ears along with the laughter of the other dinners. Remaining as composed as they could, they did the best thing they could have and quickly exited the area and when they returned to their car later kept very quiet. The food was beautiful, the conversation scintillating and the wine well it was just wine really. James retiring early the three remaining decided to head into the Rue de Loud. A great name Loud street for some more drinks. They sat themselves at a pavement bar and enjoyed the beer and the scenery with Andy noticing that the locals had already noticed them. The warm evening and the nice beer mixed well encouraging the on to further bars. Still it was to bed at midnight tomorrow was the day.
Jon and James were up and out into town early to experience the delights of the historic town. Andy and Jim rose at 11 and headed for breakfast and paper to cover the hamper. They headed into town and finally found a sit-down café. Unfortunately no food so with a coffee to perk them up they were off again. Paper still on the list. Busy were they when who comes into the shop but a man named Jerome and his other half Carolin. Jerome and Carolin are old friends of Arnaud and Marie-Laure’s and descend on La Baule with the crew every year. A surprise-fleeting meeting before they had to head off to the first part of the wedding and Jim and Andy must get fed. Sitting themselves eventually in a café on Loud street again, they order their lunch before noticing the girl from the tourist office was sitting a little way a way whispering to her friend, they had been noticed also. Feeling pleased they ate up, waved hello before heading off to get ready.
Back at the hotel pandemonium ensued. The hamper was skilfully wrapped. If anyone asks you how many engineers it takes to wrap a hamper, the answer is three. The red roses for les Anglais were collected, shirts ironed, faces shaved and showers taken. Then dressed up to the nines they were ready but were les Francais? They piled in the taxi to the church ensuring not one muscle moved in order to try to keep cool they headed South. The town lovely, the church beautiful they stepped out ready. Early as ever they hid the hamper and piled down to the nearest bar. On route some of the fellow wedding guests were come across including a particularly giggly young lady. The boys swept onwards into the bar in order to obtain a refreshing and cooling beer. The boys were sitting there enjoying the moment when one of the fellow guests, an extremely attractive young lady was spotted walking towards the bar. James nudged Andy, Andy jaw on floor notified Jim, Jim nudged Keysey SWEET BABY JESUS CHRIST!! blasted Keysey. Quite. In an instant another roadtrip catchphrase was born, one which Jon would regret bitterly as it was repeated again and again and again..
Soon it was time for the wedding itself. The boys were off to the church. A crowd had gathered but the approaching boys were quickly spotted. First Victoria, Nadir’s girlfriend spotted the boys and they were beckoned into the midst of the throng where they were met by Arnaud, Nadir and Jerome all applauding the sharp look and the excellent button hole roses of les Anglais. Nadir looked chagrined as he explained he hadn’t worn a button hole thinking that no-one else would. He really didn’t think too carefully on that. The ceremony was about to start so everyone headed into the coolness of the church, lovely after the baking heat outside. First Arnaud with his mother came into the church dressed in his tails then Marie-Laure escorted by her father. Then the first challenge for the boys, the first hymn. The music started then the choir, and then the boys tried to work out where they were and match the tune. It was about now they realised no one else was singing. Was this a choir only moment such as a soloist singing Ave Marie, should they not join in? A few people were singing were they right or wrong. Stuck, what to do. There was only one answer plunge onwards with the singing and losing the place many times. Still the effort was there. The ceremony progressed. Nadir told us all about boats in a harbour, that is about where the understanding went. More songs and more valiant attempts to sing came and went. Now, the boys hadn’t been to a French wedding before so had not perhaps realised how long it would be. As there is mass in the ceremony, a long time was the answer, 1-½ hours long. It was baking and they were feeling the heat. Then with a fanfare that caught everyone including Arnaud by complete surprise the ceremony was complete they had civilly been married earlier and now married for the second time in one day, this time at the church. Everybody flooded out to take their pictures of the couple as they emerged. Confetti was thrown, cute little bridesmaids weren’t sure what to do, pictures were taken and Arnaud and Marie-Laure shared a kiss. Much was made by our friends and the people we knew of our brilliantly wrapped hamper, everyone thought they knew what it was but not many guessed correctly. However time was moving on and so it was off to the party.
We joined a friend of Arnaud’s from Paris and headed off to the party in a cacophony of hooting and beeping in a convoy of cars. The party was been held in an old farmhouse, albeit the most luxurious farmhouse the boys had ever seen. The day was absolutely lovely but the so, so hot. We gathered in the sun for a group photo before descending into the cool cover of the trees. A few glasses of wine helped the mood as we tried our French or didn’t try at the situation decided. Then carrying on the tradition started at Phil and El’s wedding we got our photo taken with Marie-Laure been held aloft by us. As the afternoon heat started to fade we made of way inside for the meal. Seven courses. Too many to mention, plus we were drunk so too many to remember. The shows about Arnaud and Marie-Laure’s lives were presented although as the presentations mostly in French some jokes slipped by the boys. Eventually the tables were cleared and the disco began. That of course was not before, for reasons that are too obscure to mention, Jon jumped on Andy severely gashing his hand. Anyway the disco began in full swing everyone was up and dancing, even Nadi had stiff competition. However, the biggest surprise was that Vincent, Arnaud’s cousin, who the boys have struggled to speak to for 3 years in stop-start French can speak very good English. Finally at 4:30 am with departure set for 9am latest the boys bid their goodbyes, leaving everyone with their memories of les Anglais.
The day started with a thump. The thump in the head as slow realisation that the annoying beeping was the alarm and the alarm meant departure. Andy and Jim tenderly made their way to breakfast and sat there try to consume the dry bread and tea on offer. Final packing was complete and making their excuses to James and Jon who made it finally down took a breath of fresh air. Andy discovering not only had Jon jumping on him gashed his hand but also broken his sunglasses. Sunglasses, Wedding events and Andy clearly do not mix well. James and Jon quickly finished their breakfasts and it was on the road and back to Le Havre. An hour smoothly went by and they were almost half way there when James reported a total lack of power, they quickly got off the highway but some few hundreds metres short of the toll booth they ran to a halt. The engine was dead. With over 150 km to go they were stuck.
The highway patrol soon came to see them from the toll booth, called a mechanic and coned off the area. The boys were stopped just past the corner on a slip road next to a scummy small reservoir. The theories started. Jim whose car as mentioned earlier was itself not well believed that the engine management system on this car had also failed, Andy believed that a part was overheating like he’d once experienced on a micra and it would start later, Jon believed we should muck around, James believed he had European roadside cover. Oh yes. James did believe, unfortunately for the party it was not so. No cover we were really stuck. The boys not knowing what else to do had a nose around under the bonnet then started to explore the side of the scummy reservoir, this of course led to Jim plunging his foot deep into the slime, much to his annoyance and the others mirth. Eventully due to Baby’s constant badgering James tried the engine again. It took hold. They collected the cones and rushed into the car and onwards to the toll booth here they were told by the highway recovery guy to stop and wait for the mechanic. Who was still the original 10 minutes away. So they waited and waited. They mucked around, played cricket with empty water bottles and stones and Jon decided to do something to his backside with Vaseline. Then they decided to dance. Turning up the stereo, stripping off their shirts they danced and danced. The passing French were amused unlike the passionate couple that turned up and where subjected to the usual ‘whey heys!’ Much to James’s and their embarrassment. Finally the mechanic turned up and as the car had restarted did nothing but still charged them 1000FFr. He of course didn’t take cards and so when the Francs ran out he demanded English money for his really useful service to the boys. They were on the road again and it was back into the centre of Alençon, which was where they had got to that they headed for a well-earned snack. The reached the centre of town where the engine gave up a second time. This was not a good sign for the boys. James becoming increasingly distressed and stayed to think with the car whilst Jim and Andy debated whose theory was most likely and Jon got the grub in. Finally the car started again so flying into there seats they were off again….but not for long. 10 metres short of the entrance way to the highway the engine failed again. The distance covered between breakdowns was becoming shorter and shorter. More theories were discussed including Andy’s theory of a intermittent blockage in the fuel supply. Finally admitting that no-one actually had a clue they decided to call the RAC to arrange a pickup, however, after hearing the cost they decided to give it one more go. The engine was allowed to cool and then they were off on the road again. They were making good time with the higher revs the car coped well. With still some 4 hrs an only 150 km to cover the chase for the ferry was on. They covered 50 km until disaster in the form of caravans reared up. A huge queue had built up due to caravans ahead and so it was time to queue. The revs dropped, the engine stopped. Pulling over into a lay-by they sat it out. The engine was roasting it could be a long wait. Jim started a game of association trying to link movie stars by who else they had starred with. Time passed by but the engine was not co-operating. They moved into the shade and carried on playing moving onto football where every time Jim suggested two players the link was always that they had actually both played at some useless East Anglian club no-one had heard of but happen to play in yellow and Green and apparently have Delia Smith as a director. An hour rolled past, still nothing the ferry was slipping out of our grasp. Finally Andy convinced Jim to give it another go. Slamming it into gear, to turn the engine he turned the starter. The car leapt forward. He then tried in neutral the engine lit up. James and Jon came sprinting across the road and they were on the road again. They might just make it with 15 mins to spare. They raced onwards along the straight roman road towards Le Havre. Then traffic lights, they made it through but only for the engine to give up again. They were stuck and as the other traffic passed so did any thoughts of making the ferry. What to do? They needed relief and refreshment so Andy and Jon headed off down the hill. Both were found at the bottom of the hill in a petrol station that also had a proper garage. They could see if it was something easy to fix. So they pushed the car round and on down the hill. Finding the mechanic they prevailed on him to inspect the beast. Bringing it into a magnificent workshop, the sort of place you could lose yourself in for years, the mechanic started his logical troubleshooting. Battery, Good. Spark plugs, good. Carburettor, good. Fuel pump fuel pump, bad. The fuel pump is gone the boys were told, it works partially but not enough to keep the engine going, hence the stop start, one of Andy’s theories had indeed been closest, Jim was disgusted. What to do? You have a spare they asked, non came the reply. Maybe Monday, it was only Saturday, it is August in France it was explained. We were truly stuck. A lorry it was then, whatever it costs. The garage had a truck £315 they were told. Too much, earlier when they had enquired it had been £200 from further away. So James arranged for a pick-up via the RAC in the UK, £320. The others nosed around the garage then realising they where in the way pushed the car out of the garage to wait for the truck. Switching on radio 4 LW they relaxed in the hot afternoon to the dulcet tones of test-match special, after all Jim and Andy were off to the match the next day. We waited until the truck finally arrived. Loaded up, the roadtrip would be completed by truck. We were back on the road and subjecting the truck driver to test match special as we relaxed for the journey to Le Havre, the next challenge awaited les Anglais there. We arrived at the port to find a queue already waiting for the night crossing. Whilst Jim and Andy recorded the moment on film, Jon and James went to negotiate. Discovering a very helpful young lady they negotiated a place on the ferry despite there being a waiting list. They were told to bypass the queue and enter the freight yard. They eventually found the P&O building, they arranged for the car to be towed onto the ferry, then James negotiated a cabin. No sleeping on the floor this time. Jim, Jon and Andy walked straight onto the ferry without tickets and waited for James. Eventually he was towed on last and they got the cabin. Showered at last and changed, James hit the sack whilst Jim, Andy and Jon got fed and some beers again. It was not to be a long night however, and soon we were in bed. Finally just after six am we landed in a rainy Portsmouth. James was separating here getting towed to Oxford. Jim, Jon and Andy were off to London. The trip which had begun in high spirits, which had had everything a roadtrip could have had was over. It would stand the test of time as a legend.
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