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Gaga about Paris (57)

• Tom Fordyce
• 10 Oct 07, 05:22 AM

Macon, Wednesday, en route to Paris - 400 kilometres down, 400 to go.

At this stage of the trip, with the sunny pitches of the south disappearing in Le Bloggernaut鈥檚 dusty wake and the bug-battered bonnet pointing towards the autumnal north, we鈥檇 expected to feel as glum as in a library.

Instead, our chuggathon up the autoroute has seen the pair of us so sparkly-eyed and perma-smiled that we could pass for aged members of a particularly bad-looking boy-band.

So gaga are we with anticipation of what Paris will bring that almost nothing can disturb our happy equilibrium.

A French lorry tries to pull out and pass straight through us, as if we were a mere fly-splattered phantom? We ease onto the brakes and wave the snarling clown on.

Le Bloggernaut鈥檚 wing mirrors suddenly flip inwards in the face of a stiff wind as we pass Avignon, leaving me with the vision of a ? We merely wink at each other and chuckle at the old girl鈥檚 playful sense of humour.

Ben鈥檚 mood is so benevolent that he sits there uncomplaining as I sing the line from the Beatles鈥� 鈥溾�� a thousand times as we pass Montelimar.

I鈥檓 feeling so bouncy that I don鈥檛 even mention the fact I鈥檝e now driven 3,800 miles on this trip while Ben has yet to do a metre.

In a petrol station just south of Valence, Ben even gives a cheery wave to another motorist, which doesn鈥檛 sound like a big deal until you find out that Mr Dirs Senior鈥檚 parting words to his son each time he left for university were simply 鈥�.鈥�

For the moment at least, the nightmare that will be piloting our massive mobile chateau around the honking streets of the capital lies dormant.

We鈥檝e heard about this campsite in the , but we鈥檝e also had a spine-tingling warning about that particular part of town from an old boy we met back down south.

I won鈥檛 go into the full details of what he said, but the grizzled tent veteran made it clear that certain parts of our anatomies would be at risk from the sort of attack that those certain parts would very much want to avoid.

We shall see. In the meantime, let the suggestions pour in for places to meet pre and post match, and ideally for a grassy spot for a spot of touch rugby too.

The rugby ball in the van gets tossed around at motorway service stations 鈥� there鈥檚 nothing like slicing a onto the cab of an articulated lorry for getting you back on the road quickly 鈥� but it鈥檚 been so long since either of us were on the end of a decent passing move that we鈥檙e thinking of changing our names to and .

Which one of us is which? I鈥檒l let you decide.

Tom Fordyce is a 主播大秀 Sport journalist travelling around France in a camper van with Ben Dirs.

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