Paris in the spring

Well, Untitled no. 37 made it with flying colours, and a relatively
small exhalation of it's bodily fluids. After our last blog we've had
a remarkably unmemorable steak and a soul destroying wander around the
wasteland that is industrial Calais trying and failing to find
somewhere to get a drink. The emergency hip flask came into play
earlier than originally anticipated.
After a nights sleep interrupted by a herd of wildebeast in football
studs (or at least that's what it sounded like) we made it to the
start at about half eight, where a few things became clear;
1 - We have by far the most committed car decorations
2- There are a variety of people who are taking this a little too
seriously
3 - I don't think we'll be the first to either break down or be arrested
A fuller description of other entrants will follow, I'm sure.
We are getting a lot more love on our 'lust or disgust' list in France
- even the gendarme have given us the thumbs up. Only the bastard
cutting us up on the Paris perepherique gave us any serious hassle.
So anyway, we got here fine, and only the steam issuing from the
engine after it was left idling while I checked into the hotel caused
consternation.
We've met up with Jim's cousin, who is a chef here, and are now
sitting in the glorious sunshine, having a beer, and contemplating all
the challenges set by the coyote rally that we have no intention of
doing.