Warning - this post is not about my Beyoncé-like posterior (sorry to disappoint)
Le Tour does seem to bring out a myriad of emotions in a grown man. From the fist pumping, screaming fool that fleetingly showed on Eurosport (we stood by a distinctive tree on the Tilloy les Marchiennes section of pavé so that I would have the best chance of seeing myself on the telly - it worked!) to the tongue tied pit lane loiterer at the Wanze départ.
However, all of these characteristics pale in comparison when it comes to the tat obsessed thug that wants to claim every single piece of jetsom from the caravan. Large PMU foam hand - I NEED IT! Cheap floppy Skoda hat - GIVE IT TO ME! FdJ jersey - I BEG YOU YOUNG TEENAGE PROMOTIONS GIRL, THROW IT TO ME NOT THE 8 YEAR OLD BOY WITH ONE LEG (he'd never get the use out of it like I would). So a hearty couple days worth of leaping, pouncing, elbowing and snatching resulted in a rather large pile of tat that, when in Rome, brought me a great deal of satisfaction but, when in home, made me wonder why I have added to the growing mound of tentatively cycling related 'memorabilia' that I am amassing. And I don't even want to start on the new addiction I have to Haribo liquorice.
Here's what I got -
This constituted a nice late lunch.........
....always support les flics........
.......utterly pointless 'pop out' disks seemed all the rage this year......
.......these are the uninflated clackers that always look as if they are going to hit a sprinter full in the face at 70km/h........
.......chapeau le tat!
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