Tailing off limply

Not much today. Shattered and have a need for silence – but also can’t finish without the last day. But I’ve gone all terse. Not very articulate.

Yesterday was fun. Great morning/afternoon with Mary and Greg, over from London and making the ultimate sacrifice of being on the Eurostar during the final sprint. Thank you guys – so lovely to see you!

In the grand stands above the Champs Elysees was busy, baking and, frankly, hard work. We got there at 5pm, with estimated arrival of cyclists from 8pm. The sun was fierce and Tam had had enough and so had I. Tam spiralled into madness then suddenly fell asleep for two hours, thank god. When the cyclists arrived we saw two of the laps of the circuit from our spot near the finish. Very exciting. Then I had a fight with a random man – the rare loss of my temper, never very pleasant. I decided both of us had had it. We walked back to our hotel (no mean feat) and watched Kittel take it, and then the podium and laser show, from our beds. I felt no sadness about doing this – we saw more and I killed nobody.

Good for Kittel! Poor old Cav though. I don’t mind him not winning – and I was pretty sure he wouldn’t today anyway, given the tenor of the whole Tour for him – and in fact it’s kind of good for him to come down a few pegs. But the press has been pretty bad for him, and I don’t like people being slagged off by everyone, so I feel sorry for him in the next few days. He must be glad it’s all over.

Scary woman met Quintana last night. She said he was very arrogant for one so young. I wondered if she had any idea how terrifying she is when she talks – poor Nairo must have wanted to run for the hills. Anyway, I don’t buy into the idea that sportspersons must be friendly and welcoming and open characters if that is what they are not. It’s nice when they are … but if you ain’t Pollyanna what’s the point in trying? Can’t you be yourself and have other valuable skills than just warmth at first meeting of strangers?

 

Anyway, Tam and I have had breakfast and are now back in bed. Enough.

All in all, I’d do the group thing again, provided I could blog to protect my soul. It was tough, but I learnt a lot and it made me practise and improve my poor social skills. And Tam – well. It was a big thing to ask of her, and bar a couple of meltdowns she’s shown enormous flexibility and maturity. There were times I would have liked her to disappear but, on balance, travelling with her is a joy – and luckily one I have many more years to enjoy yet.

Thanks for reading this blog – I hope it has been interesting/informative/entertaining. I don’t think I could have managed a group tour without it.

Chapeau Froome! And trains! I LOVE TRAINS!

Today has so far been all about Tam. I thought it was a good tactic to make her sleep at 7pm last night. So she’s had 13 hours passed out and is seriously perky. I am thus now badly regretting my strategy, as I’m NOT seriously perky.

Tam is half me and half Bunna – unsurprisingly. Bunna and I are absolutely chalk and cheese – it didn’t last forever but the miracle is that it lasted at all – and I say that with great respect and affection for my ex-husband. As a couple I used to think of us as a martini. Bunna is almost pure vermouth. I am a gin bottle that the cocktail maker has barely shown the vermouth to.

So Tam on grumpy, shy, reluctant (see episode on meeting Richie Porte) is all gin. She was also all gin when we met Greipel this morning. I didn’t bother going to get his autograph, partly because I was too shy, partly because Tam is not as obsessed as I am, partly because he was having his breakfast at our hotel and the poor bloke has a right to some peace before riding 125km up a mountain. Then Evan came along and demanded his autograph and shouted “Tam! It’s Greipel!” She said “My mummy already told me, and I’m too shy and I don’t know him so I don’t want to meet him.” Greipel liked that – he said it was refreshing to be irrelevant. He then chatted to me about her a bit (yeah, I’m just the token mother they want to get information out of on her, but I’ll take that). I managed to string a few sentences together but really, it was pretty painful on my part. Tam just played with a fig tree branch.

On the bus, Tam was 100% vermouth. I’m now considering cutting out her vocal chords.

We’re now up a mountain for the final stage. I am sitting alone with Tam – the group is really getting on my tits now. I enjoyed yesterday’s stage in the hotel – Froome made it through the last really horrific ride, next to Porte as ever. I’m trying to include a photo from the web I really like here [above, I hope] – Froome and Porte riding to the end of Alpe d’Huez after Froome had bonked and been dragged back up by Porte. It really sums up this Tour for me – Porte could have won that stage, Porte protected Froome and the jersey to the end – and yet Porte is congratulating Froome on making it up to the line. Happy in sacrifice, extraordinary. Mind you, Chris has not been short on singing Richie’s praises too, and we have some awesome years to come from the Portester.

Later …

Great day. Halfway up an Alp, for the first time among the crowds at the side of the road and it was an awesome experience. Tam found a pile of amazing Australians who were happy to play cooking with her for five hours. I got sunburnt for the first time in 10 years. And the atmosphere as we waited for the race to pass – indescribable. I even got some decent photos. Tam absolutely loved it.

We had to sprint to the bus to make our train to Paris (I’m on the train now), and I heard the final stage results on the radio. Looked for a moment like Froome was trying to get the stage and the King of the Mountains, although I can’t say that for sure as I didn’t watch and I haven’t been online to check. I guess he’s lost the polka dot jersey to Quintana now, but he was surely not that bothered about it and must have just felt he had the legs to give it a shot. I’m personally delighted Quintana finally got a stage – he bloody deserves it and I’m definitely well up for him winning this in the future when he gets out of short pants.

And chapeau Froome in the end. He’s made it. I am overjoyed. I was a very reluctant Froome supporter in the beginning but he’s really starting to impress me – not just his cycling but also his attitude and his responses to the press on a variety of issues. I’ve also learnt a bit more about his background and upbringing and it’s fascinating.

Great also to have had two British winners in two years. I’ve had a fight with one guy here who thinks Froome is absolutely not British – I don’t actually mind that much if he is or not but by this man’s reckoning my daughter would also not be British – and in fact would be less British than Froome – so I feel no distress at disagreeing strongly with the argument that Froome is, as the guy from Oklahoma said, from (what he seemed to be suggesting was the country of) Africa.

Last but not least before I pass the computer over to Tam for DVD hour: a huge hoo-hah arose before we got on the bus to the train station. Weird Australian man had wandered off at the beginning; if he was not on time we would have missed the train. Everyone started bitching about him and saying they were “going to leave his weird ass behind” for being late. Another choice titbit: “Why d’he bother coming on a tour if he’s going to be so weird?”

The wonderful thing was that in the end he was the first at the bus. So the big attempt to isolate the weird man for being different made them all look as stupid as hell. Ho ho ho.

Random poolside musings

My god we were shattered today (yes, yes, I may have been a little hungover too).  Yesterday was so thoroughly overexciting in so many ways, and we peaked a bit heavily. I crawled down to breakfast to wave off the rest of the group, then we watched Bedknobs and Broomsticks and slept all morning. Tam has just eaten an entire wheel of brie for lunch and nothing else. If I see any more cheese I'm going to barf.

Pierre Rolland has just gone up Madelaine (fnarf fnarf), and I’m updating the waiter over my shoulder from The Guardian live coverage online, as the latter is totally gutted he has to work after the French finally won a stage yesterday to save them from total humiliation. Everyone else should be back soon as they’re only viewing at lunchtime today (we were supposed to go to the finish but among the hoi polloi, and everyone declared themselves too shattered and unable to face another huge bus journey home).

I didn’t mention the cycling really yesterday, as I was beyond typing by the time it got to us, although it was of course a fascinating stage (I did not, as you may think, spend ALL day going back and forth from the bar). The usual strategically incomprehensible Saxo Tinkhoff attack (Roche and Paulinho mashed into the ground for no fathomable reason), Riblon winning for France after punching a drunk spectator (it wasn’t just me!) and later riding into a ditch, Contador attacking yet again on the descent and yet again being unable to sustain it.

And of course the Froome and Porte drama: as The Guardian said, it was an attempt by Porte to keep the time penalty from hypoglycaemic Froome that was so Baldrickian in its transparency that they both got fined – but it was obviously the right decision to keep Froome upright and able.

Mumblings are going around about whether Porte should have left him. NO NO NO!!! For heaven’s sake. I love Porte more than anybody, but he did absolutely what he was supposed to get the TEAM victory – not a solo victory – even if it was clear that he could have gone for it. This is exactly the same issue as last year when Froome had to drop back for Wiggins – but Porte was much more graceful and professional about it than Froome was in 2012. Meanwhile, in my privileged position at the Team Sky bus in the riders’ enclosure the previous day, my random Sky mechanic flirtee had told me they were going to keep Porte to a gentler time trial precisely so he could conserve energy to help Froome on Alpe d’Huez. This is the nature of cycling, and the reason I love it so much. Had Porte attacked his own leader I would have sent him a very shirty email about the loss of a small half-Cambodian girl’s affection.

Some funny things are going on in the group. Scary woman is being ganged up on by everyone else. She really is extremely aggressive, yet she has taken to Tam all of a sudden and is explaining science things to her and shouting about what good friends they are. And she seems to like me too. When we were sitting together (with a few others) at dinner last night, I was trying to work out what was going on. She was really rude to the waiter, and then got given no main course because she was typing when it was delivered. Everyone else rolled their eyes when she harrumphed that they were useless and had ignored her. I called the waiter over and got her dinner for her, and she looked at me and said “thank you” – and I suddenly saw what was happening – behind all her nastiness there is a whole well of terror. She can’t speak French but hates being out of control and showing it, so she attacks rather than make public her fear of being in strange situations. Once I got that, I relaxed a bit and decided it might be easier to help her out at times when she might panic, rather than let her go bonkers and then get torn about by the others, which is happening way too often now.

The other thing relates to weird Australian man. He also has suddenly started interacting really nicely (if oddly) with Tam – holding her hand and discussing the finer technical points of bicycles with her (she doesn’t understand a word but I’m not telling him that). But that’s by the by – what’s interesting to me here is that one woman in the group pulled me aside yesterday to say that she hated scary woman but also that “the other one I hate is James – he’s just so damned WEIRD.” He is certainly that. But let’s put aside the fact that I have no idea why she would think I would want to hear these opinions on another member of the group, and had done nothing to encourage her to share (I can only guess that it’s the insecure bullying thing of wanting everyone to validate your thoughts so you are safe being the strongest). The real point is: why the HELL does it bother you that he’s weird? I know I’ve typed on my blog that he’s weird – but nobody reading it knows him – he may as well be fictional. He doesn’t actually bother me that much in person – I don't see weird as a deal breaker as I'd be so screwed if it were – and I don’t want to discuss my reactions to him with other people in a small group. People feel so threatened by difference, but far worse than that they so often have to get others to back them up so they can feel safe in numbers from the people who throw their own lives into question. Bah, I say, bah.

Anyhow, all this is another reason I stayed home. [Yay, stage finish in safety for my guys!] Tam talks more sense than this shower of shit. Add it to the tiredness, the hangover and the slight humiliation at having been caught pissing in a field by the entire spectatorship of the Alpe d’Huez stage as they descended to the chairlifts, and you have a rambling blog today with photos of Tam paddling around and me looking old and tired.

Post title = I can't believe I managed to post this at all

There are great bonuses to our location today. Chief among them is the free wifi. No, that’s not chief among them, although it is kind of cool – I can do the blog while I’m still awake – although I’m drinking pink wine already so this may turn into gibberish quite soon. Chief among them is that we are perfectly placed to see shattered riders (OH STOP TALKING TO ME WHILE I AM WRITING, TOURIST MAN) on the second ascent of Alpe d’Huez.

It’s kind of hard, in an Alpine ski station, surrounded by people in Lycra, not to be too cycling-focused. But I feel like I’ve rambled on about the cyclists a bit, and in a too specialist manner, in the past two days, perhaps I’ll look at a few other issues. At least until the cyclists pass through in a couple of hours.

We left our hotel at 7.30am. It was a great, but freezing, little chateau in the middle of nowhere; our room had a bathroom the size of my flat in Phnom Penh and a bath with curtains – as well as velvety walls – I’ve always loved velvety walls – who wouldn't? The first hotel had been quite different – a yellow stone suntrap in Provence.

What they both had in common was the French approach to the service industry. I LOVE the French approach to the service industry. It’s so much after my own heart. “We are selling you something, and we want you to come inside so we can sustain our livelihoods, but we’re damned if we’re going to be anything but surly about it.” YES! This was me when I managed a bar in London. People used to come for miles to be insulted. They could have anything provided I could reach it (apart from spritzers) if it wasn’t busy, and anything provided it was Stella at rush hour. If they asked for ice and a slice, they were publicly ridiculed.

One co-tour traveller said to the man at the chateau that she had no key – in English of course – and he just walked off. There is so much wrong with this, and it horrified everyone else, but it had me in fits.

I’m also very much enjoying my return to French radio. I love the tilting at windmills quota system they employ – we will NOT play all English music, even if it means we are reduced to playing complete and utter shite. Again, so similar to my own self-defeating mentality. So the music I am listening to again and again on the bus is exactly the same as the music I heard 18 years ago when I lived here as a student. Johnny Holiday, Claude Francois, Jean-Jacques Goldman, Pascal Obispo – and then of course Abba, REM, Bonnie Tyler and JOY JOY JOY Ten Sharp “You.” This gem I learnt while living here and have heard nowhere else at all, ever. And now I have it playing every hour again! It’s so CRAP but I love it. I have a horrible feeling I’ve bunged it on Facebook in the past, so that’s just redoubling how sad I am. 

So back to Alpe d’Huez. Great little skiing village (took three chairlifts to get up here). I know so much about skiing. I went to a ski resort when I lived here, as my friends were instructors, but I had no money so could not ski. I did go down the black piste on a plastic bag. To be fair, I’ve tried to avoid skiing as a pursuit. I don’t see the point of it, and I don’t feel I’m the ideal person to be sliding around with two long sticks attached to my feet. I found drinking beers the size of my head more my thing back then. I’ve matured so much since.

….

Later

…

Yes, as most of you who are on FB have recognised … I overindulged again. A fascinating late afternoon/evening, but I am incapable of finishing the blog sensibly (I have some stuff stored up in my brain for tomorrow - and I will DEFINITELY not forget any of it).

Some final points, then:

1. The racing went very well for me.

2. Don’t ever think that 74 glasses of wine in an Alpine village will sit well with three chairlifts down a hill and then a huge bus trek to a hotel on another mountain.

3. I have so much respect for recovering addicts and their strong efforts. I wish, nevertheless, that they would not be around me on days like today.