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
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment