Larry  Si  Harry  Matty  Tricky  Sonic  Bold  Gerry  Bond  Moneypenny

The events detailed below involve real people committing real traffic and criminal offences, therefore, on this occasion, the names have been changed to protect the guilty. (There were no innocents).

20:00 Hours Wednesday 13th June

The mission was to get to Le Mans as quickly as possible. Once there, drink as much as possible, be laddish, then come home. Oh and a watch a race.

For the mission two high-speed vehicles were required an Audi A6 2.7t Quattro and an Audi TT Quattro. We also took a 323Ci BMW.

It started with a sprint to catch the TT Quattro, which had left Witney 5 minutes before us. The driver, Mrs Moneypenny, thought she was going to Romford to collect Winston the dog with her husband "Bond". It didn’t occur to her that the A34 does not go to Romford. Had she realised she was travelling towards the port it would have ruined the surprise (a weekend in Le Mans) she was about to get. When the headlights began to flash in her rear-view mirror at 100mph she thought it was the 5’o. How wrong, it was in fact Larry, Sonic, Scally and Tricky, closely pursued by Gerry, Bold, Big Si and Harry.

With the good news delivered we proceeded to Portsmouth. At the ferry there was a plethora of petrol-head erotica all revved up and ready to go.

The ferry journey.

Luckily?? Bold had secured us seats right in front of the cabarets speakers. If we listened really carefully we could just hear them!! I use the word cabaret because, the two old people singing shit songs badly, was too long winded. Every cloud has its bright side; the bar was open and serving Murphy’s.

Sleep was dependent on your ability to deal with the various odours and the snoring orchestra supplied as part of the package. I declined.

Thursday 14th En France

Scally had committed the first non-traffic related crime by stealing a worthless Brittany Ferries blanket. Probably the only thing on board not bolted down. Scousers eh? We were now on foreign soil and under starters orders.

100 miles to be completed in the shortest time. Great fun. The phrase from our spotter (the bloke in the passenger seat whose job it is to say whether or not it’s safe to overtake) Gerry, "Ok if your quick" said at 110 mph became a talking point and was noted for use in any court case regarding his sanity which may arise in the future. Also "clearish" caused a raised eyebrow or two and the odd "brown" moment. Max speed achieved was 140mph on the on the way down. We also improved our French language skills with the word “prudence”. We noticed a sign with the word “prudence” on as we entered a village. The sign was just before a blind brow. As we came over the brow at 240kph (3 times the limit and about 145mph) and saw the standing traffic. Therefore we deduced that “prudence means, “caution”.

We put up the tents and then went to Carefour to buy our Le Mans survival equipment, Stella (180 bottles), red wine (30l), and several hundredweight of crisps and biscuits.

Then to MacDonald’s, same food, same shit service same revolting bogs. A real reminder that some things never change.

Then back to the tents to get reacquainted with Monsieur Vin Rouge and his lovely wife Mme Stella Artois. There was then a re-enactment of the scene from ‘Le Mans The Piss Up 2000’ where the "big northern bloke" did the human avalanche and nearly killed a Froggy chap last year. This time by using a bottle of Stella as a counterweight and using my painfully gained knowledge of the terrain to my advantage I managed to escape unscathed.

After evening qualifying it was off to Bedfordshire. More odours and the welcome (?) return of the snoring orchestra. A full on snoring battle then ensued with Scally the clear winner due to a total lack of rhythm and fooling us all into believing he wouldn’t survive the night.

Friday 15th

First a breakfast of fish and eggs. WHAT fish? Ohhhhhhhh yes. Haddock. Very nice actually.

Bonjour Mme Artois et Mr Rouge we meet again (well the pubs at home were open). A visit to the pits, where we just so happened to bump into the Hawaiin Tropics, and then on to Indianapolis where we arrived at the burn ups shortly after "Le Peelers" (Rozzers, Bizzies, Coppers, Dibble, 5’o).

We stayed a while to look at the petrol-head erotica on display then headed back to the campsite ate dinner and got well and truly acquainted with our newfound French host and his lovely Belgian wife. We played Bond’s mind-games, which involved both lateral and logical thinking, quite a challenge after 8 hours "sur la piss". Scally retired early with a bad case of lightweight pussyitus. The main symptom of which was an inability to solve the puzzles.

Saturday 16th, Race Day

We got up did the three S’s then ate all except Scally. Scally’s case of lightweight pussyitus had worsened overnight and he started the day with a triple techni-colour yawn. And had a conversation with the now legendary Huey down the big white telephone. I personally feel that his nausea was brought on, not by the drink, but by his feeling of dismay and utter disgust with himself at having lived for 24 hours without stealing anything.

When we arrived at Arnage corner the weather was dry, sunny and warm, a real let down. Luckily our misgivings about the weather were misplaced and it pissed down before the cars had completed the first lap. Cars were sliding all over the place. Fantastic. When we left to go and have dinner the Bentley car 7 was leading, but not for long. As Alanis Morrissette (which incidentally has 3) once said "isn’t it ironic" that a British car should have to retire because the rain got in and caused a short circuit and subsequently a fire in the gear box. 
After eating we went to the main stand area for a look around the village. It was here that we lost Tricky. Old bloke, wandered off, no phone. Shit! 45 minutes later Larry returned from the search with Tricky in tow. Thank Christ. Then to Tetra rouge (no relation to our French friend introduced earlier). More cars dicing with death and looking for a dry patch, how odd!

Once fed and watered we left for the highlight of any Virgins "first time" and we had three with us.

A walk into the countryside, over fences to a secluded restaurant. Then into the fields with a sense of anticipation and nervousness at whether or not the "first time" was all it was cracked up to be. Fumbling around together in the dead of night on the wet grass. Waiting for the inevitable rush of adrenalin. Then it happened. Bright lights, the earth moving under their feet, the shouting, the screams of enjoyment. Yes Mulsane at night. A truly erotic experience.

Then torchlight, a Gendarme’s whistle and cries of "Oy you" in French, a lot of Gallic arm waving and shrugging. Eventually we translated all this to mean, " Fuck off or I will arrest you!"

We fucked off. 4am bed.

Sunday 17th

We ate a breakfast of steak; eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms then struck camp amid cries of " look at my Le Mans knickers" from Moneypenny.

Then we went back to Arnage Corner to watch the finish. Fortunately the weather had not abated and the once grassy bank was now a mud bath. Scally was the only one of us to fall over (surprise!). Much cheering and waving of flags ensued as the Bentley passed in 3rd place behind the 2 remaining Audis.

In the annual sweep one of our virgins, Harry, was declared King for having picked the winning Audi. Only shortly after the Coronation Ceremony and the awarding of 500f prize money his crown fell out. Therefore we had a king without a crown.

With the race over we went back to the campsite for food. A rare luxury. Normally at this stage we would be rushing home. The race back to back to the ferry started after we had eaten. It was on this leg of the journey that the brownest moment happened. Picture the scene, Audi TT Quattro 140mph closely behind Audi A6 2.7t Quattro catching at 150mph, in the inside lane a Citroen AX 90mph 100yds from the exit. The conversation in the Citroen was probably " Fuck me this TTs cutting it fine". Imagine their surprise when the A6 pulled in as well, standing on its front bumper as Bold pulled on the reins. " Whoa boy! Anchor out! Parachutes". Those TTs pull up really quickly! That one incident all but destroyed the brakes on the A6.

We then got on the ferry and returned to old Blighty.