CROIX en TERNOIS

Well after the sort of long, cold, wet spring that drove me to move from the midge infested swamp that is the west coast of Scotland I was looking forward to the annual "Hamsters drink beer - fall down" culture fest that is "Kwaa". With me, as always was my French Chef and navigator "Ludo". With his navigation its only a question of when we get lost, not where. Where would imply that he had some idea of "where" where was. Begining to wonder how hard it could be to barby some "Meargettes" - morocccan spicy lamb sausages, which are absolutely addictive and open a jar of "bits of pig that everyone else throws away" - a delicacy in France, apparently. They say the first bite is with the eye, but when theres one staring back from your baguette I begin to wonder.

By 4:30 Fri morning I was rolling out of Ipswich and with a handy housebrick doubling as "cruise control" we made the ferry in record time. Carrefour supermarche was then plundered for supplies, inc jars of "pois du por - que chacun jette loin". Sounds so much nicer in French but then so does "Je fais transmettre sexuellement une maladie virulente, probablement". You can almost hear Sasha Distelle singing it.

However, "Raindrops keep falling on my head" would have been more appropriate. As I neared Calais on the return leg from the baccy shop in Belgium I wondered which way to turn. The rain battering off the windscreen was barely cleared by the wipers, already going as fast as they could and the van lurched alarmingly as the wind slammed into the side. For a couple of Euro's I'd have turned for Calais and home. Ever optimistic I carried on for Croix - well after one detour thanks to Ludo. The scene at Croix was one of bleak desolation, it may have been the end of May, but it felt more like November.

Saturday morning showed no improvement and as I lined up for practice I was asking myself how long it would take to get back to my warm little flat in Ippy. No surprise then that I tippy-toed round like a little old lady looking forward to racing in that about as much as an encore of "Bits of pig etc, etc". So reclaiming the "Pink Tutu of Shame" I declined to race on Sat. Instead I did a bit of taping and managed to get a few incidents on film, including Pat "Look, I can Fly ,,, Oh no you cant" Herron demonstrating what happens when you get on the gas too early. Saturday eve was one of grinning and trying to bear it as the rain continued and the wind lashed through the paddock.

Thankfully Sunday Morning brightened and it eventually dried up. I declined practice on Sunday, opting for a more Zen orientated preparation. I sat on the step of my van drinking coffee and smoking Gauloise, and would have been happy to remain there for the next hour as I contemplted the nature of existance and the transitory nature thereof. Alas my metaphysical bubble was burst when Fish walked past and told me we had 10 minutes to race time and not the couple of hours I fondly imagined I had. I thought at first he was joking, as an Everton supporter a sense of humour must be essential.

So gentle reader thats how I found myself at the back of the grid, a releived "Jensen" to my side, looking at the bikes in front and wishing I were somewhere else. The light went out, I went "Fcuk it" and set off in pursuit at a pace I could have equalled on my push bike. It was, with the clarity of hindsight, easy to see that its going to take a little while for me to get back up to pace after Snett. Hopefully when I next come out to play a practice day should buff off the rust. So packed and on my way shortly after race two I amused myself by wedging a rock hard baguette onto the throttle and watching Ludo grow paler by the kilometer as I chased some bikes to the ferry. With the speedo nudging 90 it looked like he was going to climb into the back to grab my lid and hide under the bed. It brought back memories of my days as a bus driver, you knew you were trying when the passengers would go quiet.

This is George Watson, for Back O' the Grid I'll see you all at Snett. I'll be easy to spot, I'll be the one in a Paraguay shirt being pursued by an angry mob - Hasta La vista

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