Passage du Gois

Gustave is explaining the Passage du Gois to Gaius and Violetta.

It's a narrow passage between the mainland and the island of Noirmoutier. Twice a day it becomes flooded by the tide, he says.

Gaius' eyes open wide.

And we have to ride over it? I hope they have the timing right, he says.

Oh, if the tide is coming in, that makes it all the more fun, says Gustave. People drive over it in their cars all the time. There are foot races over the Passage too, beginning as the tide is receding. The runners start off running through the lapping waves.

This is crazy , says Violetta. I don't like it at all.

Don't worry, I'm sure it won't be like 1999, says Gustave.

What happened in 1999? asks Gaius.

A massive pileup of riders on the causeway, says Gustave. It created a six minute split in the peloton, dashing the hopes of some of the favourites.

Really? says Violetta. Who won?

Lance Armstrong, says Gustave.

Who? says Violetta.

Easy Beats

Gustave was not without influence in Paris. In a matter of hours Team Bumptious found itself booked on a flight to France, flying business class, with their bicycles professionally packed.

Now Violetta, said Gustave. I trust you will not be bringing your paints.

Yes, said Violetta.

Gustave left it at that.

The VeloDrone too was not without influence. He had secured a free flight for Team Philosophe including four bicycles on the same plane as Team Bumptious.

There was a tricky moment at the boarding gate when it was noticed that one of the team members was a dog.

May I see your ticket? asked the flight attendant.

Certainly, said Farky, showing his ticket, and a letter from Nicholas Sarkozy.

Welcome aboard, Mr MacTaggart, said the flight attendant. I hope you enjoy your flight.

Look over there, whispered Sweezus. Who's that?

Where? said Farky, looking around.

There, said Sweezus. Fat man with the mo, with the skinny guy in the toga and the woman with the massive bag.

I know who that is, said Le Bon David. That's Gustave Flaubert, the well-known writer. And that's his team, Team Bumptious. They're riding in the Tour.

They look like easy beats, said Sweezus.

Don't underestimate them, said The VeloDrone.

More Pressing Things

Over coffee, the conversation turned again to matters of art.

I don't believe, Violetta, said Gustave, that you really think street art is more important than photography.

Street art is real, said Violetta.

So is a photograph, said Gustave.

Hah! said Violetta. What about the one I tagged, of people wearing rabbits' heads, picnicking on the rocks. Or were they goats' heads? I can't remember.

Ah yes, said Gaius.

Ah yes what? said Violetta. Ah yes that wasn't very real?

Ah yes I think there were two photographs side by side, said Gaius. One where the people were wearing rabbits' heads and one where they were wearing goats' heads.

Ah yes, said Gustave,

You two are far too complacent, said Violetta. I still think it's only real things that matter.

Like tagging a photograph with someone else's name? said Gustave.

Pphhhttt! said Violetta. Anyway, we have more pressing things to worry about. I mean the Tour de France. Do you guys realise that the Grand Depart is this coming Saturday? We have to figure out how to get ourselves to the Passage du Gois in the Vendee.

Great Jupiter! said Gaius.

Merde! said Gustave. We must start to make arrangements at once!

A Strict Code of Conduct

They made it back to Norwood in record time.

Phewww! said Gustave. That was close!

I've never pedalled so fast in my life, puffed Gaius.

Exactly! said Violetta. See what you can do when you try.

You mean, when we're implicated in a criminal act, said Gustave, sourly.

Ah, but that's just it, said Violetta. You havn't committed a crime, and nor have I.

You lied? sad Gaius, amazed. You didn't tag the street art downstairs in the gallery?

No, what do you take me for? said Violetta. We street artists have a strict code of conduct, you know.

Wait a minute, what about that GUS! tag you scrawled all over the picnicking rabbits, (or goats)? asked Gustave.

Pooh! said Violetta. Photography is not as important as street art. Anyway it'll wipe off easily. And nobody knows who GUS! is anyway. Aren't you pleased to know how fast Team Bumptious can ride, when the pressure's on ?

I suppose so, said Gustave.

Yes, I suppose so too, agreed Gaius. Shall we have a coffee? We deserve one.

Alright, said Violetta. Who's paying?

Me, said Gaius. I'm enjoying today.

Panic Upstairs

What do you mean we have to get out of here pronto? asked Gustave. We haven't finished looking at these interesting photographs.

Never mind that! said SPLOSH! The guards are after me! Quick, let's go down the side stairs!

Why are they after you? asked Gaius. What have you done?

I've tagged all the artworks downstairs, said SPLOSH! and now we have to leave.

You may have to leave, my dear SPLOSH!, said Gustave mildly. But Gaius and I haven't done anything wrong.

SPLOSH! took out a marker pen and wrote GUS! in large fat letters in the corner of the photograph of the picnicking rabbits ( or goats ).

Now you, she said to Gaius, waving the marker pen threateningly. What street name shall we give you?

No! cried Gaius. That's enough. We're leaving down the side stairs.

Yes we are, spluttered Gustave. SPLOSH! you really are a handful!

They raced down the side stairs nearly falling over one another in their haste. They ran through the foyer, out of the main door, jumped onto their bikes and pedalled away, with SPLOSH! in the lead. Gustave and Gaius were in such a state of panic they didn't notice that no one was chasing them at all.

Interruption

Gustave and Gaius were upstairs looking at a collection of works by young German and Australian photographers.

This is better, said Gaius. Nice photographs in frames on walls. Too tame for SPLOSH! no doubt.

Who would have thought? said Gustave.

Thought what? said Gaius.

That Violetta would turn out to be a crazy street artist, said Gustave. She's certainly not the courtesan I thought she was.

You thought she was a courtesan? said Gaius.

I did, at first, said Gustave. Violetta the beautiful but doomed courtesan from Verdi's La Traviata.

A fictional character? Gaius looked sceptical.

Yes, a fantasy, admitted Gustave. Which turned into a nightmare, he added. How are we going to get rid of her?

We don't have to get rid of her, said Gaius. She's a very fast rider. She'll be an asset to Team Bumptious.

Hmm, sighed Gustave. She doesn't strike me as a team player.

He began to look at the photographs, idly.

What are we supposed to make of these? he asked Gaius.

We're supposed to be asking ourselves what they are telling us, said Gaius. For example, the choice of subjects, and points of view. And are they different for the Germans and the Australians? And if so why? And in what way?

Well, said Gustave. Let's see. The Germans like taking pictures of customs check points, and derelict camp sites and girls with bandages over their noses, while the Australians like taking pictures of anorexic girls and picnicking rabbits or, wait a minute, are they goats?

Gaius was just about to take a closer look when SPLOSH! burst out of the lift and ran towards them gesticulating wildly.

Quick, you guys! she cried. We've got to get out of here pronto!

Hijacked

Here we are, said SPLOSH! at the entrance to the Samstag Museum. You're in for a treat. Not that you deserve one, she added.

Me? said Gaius, looking hurt.

No, him, said SPLOSH!, indicating Gustave. But never mind, get ready to be blown away!

They entered the exhibition space. The walls were lined with huge colourful canvases of various types of street art by Chor Boogie, Dlux! B.U.G.A.U.P, Phibs, Scram, Zap and Zombe.

Wow! said SPLOSH! Don't you love it!

Colourful, said Gustave. And large.

Mmm, said Gaius. I don't like it. I feel that street art loses street cred when displayed in a gallery.

Street cred! Crap! said SPLOSH! This gives it the exposure it deserves. This is the way forward for graffiti artists. Removable panels on city walls. Don't you see how fantastic it is?

No, said Gaius. I'm going upstairs to look at HIJACKED 2.

I'm coming with you, said Gustave.

And they both got into the lift, leaving SPLOSH! downstairs on her own.

A Good Mood

Gustave was annoyed at having to pay for Gaius and SPLOSH'S lunch. He decided to take them to Dolores, a chintzy cafe patronised by elderly ladies, and order the pumpkin soup. He had his reasons.

Pumpkin soup all round, he said to the waitress, and brown bread toast to go with it.

The pumpkin soup arrived promptly.

SPLOSH! picked up her soup spoon.

Take care, said Gustave, split seconds too late. It'll be burning hot.

Yeeouch, said SPLOSH!, I've burnt my tongue. Why didn't you warn me?

I did, said Gustave. But you were too quick.

SPLOSH! ate the rest of her soup slowly, with long pauses.

The waitress came back.

Have you finished? she asked.

No! said SPLOSH! crossly. I'll be finished when I get to the bottom of the bowl and when there are no more of these greasy toast soldiers.

The waitress flounced off.

Idiot! hissed SPLOSH!.

Theres nothing wrong with a bit of zeal and alacrity, observed Gustave.

I say, can we order a drink? asked Gaius.

No, said Gustave. Soup is a drink. You don't need a drink with soup.

Oh, said Gaius, who would have liked a drink after his soup.

And so it was that when they arrived at the Samstag Museum, a half an hour later, the only one in a good mood was Gustave.

SPLOSH

Gaius and Gustave were looking forward to Violetta's picnic. They wondered what sort of food she would have in her basket. Would it be ham and cheese sandwiches, mandarins, lemon squash? Would it be pate de fois gras, baguettes, cold chicken, champagne?

They stopped at a bench under a tree in the Botanical Gardens. Violetta lifted the lid of her wicker basket.

Inside was an assortment of spray paint cans, stencils and marker pens, and three black woolly balaclavas.

Where's the food? asked Gaius?

Team Bumptious has no need of food, said Violetta. I'm going to introduce you to the thrilling and subversive art of speed graffiti, using stencils. My street name is SPLOSH! I'm sure you'll have heard of me.

No, we haven't said Gustave. And there will be no speed graffiti using stencils until we've had lunch.

Hear hear, said Gaius. And maybe not then.

Come on boys, said SPLOSH!, persuasively. Graffiti is the best. Its a rush. It's the shit.

No, said Gaius. I disapprove of the defacing of public property. And so does Gustave.

Not entirely, said Gustave. Being a novelist, my opinion varies with my point of view.

That's what I like to hear, said SPLOSH! Right, boys. We WILL get some lunch. That'll put you in a better mood. Then I'll take you up the road to the Samstag Museum, to look at the May Lane Street Art Project travelling graffiti exhibition.

Good, said Gustave. I mean, lunch is good. Are you paying?

SPLOSH! never pays, said Violetta. Now, where are you taking us?

The Delights of Cycling

My fault? said Gaius. What is my fault?

Talking about the music hall Violetta, with no arms and legs. No wonder she legged it.

Yes that was unfortunate, said Gaius.

It was! said Gustave, crossly. You have spoiled my intrigue with Violetta. She had suggested some sort of combination.

Nonsense, said Gaius. She merely wants to ride with us tomorrow and then show us something interesting. I wonder what it can be?

If she turns up in lycra, I know what it will be, said Gustave.

Tch!, said Gaius.

The next morning they met at Cibo's in Norwood. Violetta was wearing baggy shorts, and a loose fitting sweater, and wheeling a bicycle.

Is that your bicycle? asked Gustave.

Yes, is there something wrong with it? asked Violetta.

No, no, said Gustave. Only it isn't exactly a racing bicycle.

Don't you worry about that, said Violetta. I ride fast. And wait till you see what's in my wicker basket.

What? asked Gaius.

Later, said Violetta.

They drank their coffees and set off down The Parade, Gaius and Gustave trying hard to keep up with Violetta, who soon disappeared out of sight.

We've lost her, puffed Gaius. Now we'll never know what was in her wicker basket.

I'm beginning not to care, said Gustave, breathing hard.

Just then Violetta appeared, looking stern.

Just as I thought, she said. You two are not serious. Let us repair to a park bench and start on my picnic. After that, we are going to look at some graffiti!

Picnic! cried Gaius. How civilised !

Graffiti! said Gustave. How.....random.

Not THAT Violetta

Combine the two? Gustave wondered what Violetta meant. He motioned Gaius to come over.

This is Gaius, he said to Violetta. And this is Violetta.

THE Violetta? asked Gaius.

Which one? asked Violetta.

Don't you know? asked Gaius, confused.

Of course I know, said Violetta. But I don't know if YOU know.

Well, said Gaius. My guess is you are not the famous Violetta with no arms and no legs, who worked in the music halls.

Because I have arms and legs, said Violetta?

No, because you are too plump, said Gaius.

Then, realising his mistake, he added, But you do have arms and legs.

And then, because he felt he had not yet put things right, he said, And you are not so very plump.

Well said, old friend, interrupted Gustave. But before you dig yourself any further into that hole, I should tell you Violetta is the newest member of Team Bumptious and will be joining us in our training regime tomorrow morning.

Very good, approved Gaius. So let us all now go home for an early night.

Gustave looked at Violetta.

Good idea, said Violetta. I'll meet you at Cibo's in Norwood at 8am, for coffee. Then, after we've ridden around for a bit, I promise to show you both something interesting. Good night, boys! See you in the morning.

She stood up and left the bar.

Gustave looked at Gaius.

That was your fault, he said.

Team Bumptious

Team Bumptious, I like it, said Gustave. Aggression, self aggrandisement, thrills and spills.

Thrills and spills, said Gaius. I don't know about that.

Bumps! said Gustave. Bumptious. Word play, don't you see?

Hmm, said Gaius. I have no intention of bumping into anyone, or falling off my bicycle. But Team Bumptious it shall be. Now we ought to go home and get an early night, so we can start practicing first thing in the morning.

No, no, said Gustave. Since this is our last night before we begin a strict training regime, I vote we make a night of it. Would you like another glass of red? And look, there's our plump lady sitting over there by herself.

He went over to reintroduce himself to the plump lady.

Hello again, he said, I believe we sat together at table 26.

Yes I remember, said the plump lady, what do you want?

To join you, said Gustave, with a twirl of his walrus moustache.

Why, am I coming apart? said the lady.

Ha ha, laughed Gustave. A sense of humour. I like that in a woman. I am Gustave Flaubert. And my friend over there is Gaius Plinius Secundus, he added, waving a finger vaguely in Gaius's direction.

My name is Violetta, said the lady. Are you THE Gustave Flaubert? And is your friend THE Gaius Plinius Secundus?

We are, said Gustave. And are you THE Violetta?

That depends on who you think THE Violetta is, said the lady. I like to think so. And I rather think that we three are going to be friends. What are you both doing tomorrow?

Unfortunately, we are beginning a strict cycling regime so our team will be ready for the Tour De France in July, said Gustave.

Oh! Would you like another member? asked Violetta. I could do with some exercise.

That is not quite what I had in mind, said Gustave.

It's not quite what I had in mind either, said Violetta. But perhaps we can combine the two.

The Twenty First Century

Your mistress! cried Gaius. What are you thinking of, Gustave? This is the twenty first century! You must reconsider!

Oh alright, said Gustave, who had already reconsidered. He sat down. What would you like to do now?

Let's go to the Lyrics Bar and have another drink, said Gaius. On you.

No, on you, said Gustave, standing up again. Those tickets were worth quite a lot.

They walked over to the Lyrics Bar and sat down at a table. Gaius ordered two cabaret cabernets, and a platter of cheese.

I really shouldn't be eating this cheese, said Gustave. I've been putting on weight lately.

Lately, scoffed Gaius. You've been portly for as long as I've known you. You should do more excercise.

I've been thinking of taking up cycling again, said Gustave.

Indeed? So have I, said Gaius. We should do it together.

Done! said Gustave. Let us begin first thing in the morning. Who knows, by next month we may be fit enough for the Tour de France!

The Tour de France, said Gaius, doubtfully. That's ambitious.

Yes, we could get up a team, what shall we call ourselves? Umm... What do you and I have in common?

We are both famous writers, said Gaius.

So we are, said Gustave. Very famous. But I am a serious novelist while your subject is outdated natural history.

What is that supposed to mean? asked Gaius, annoyed. I've been famous a lot longer than you.

Just saying, said Gustave. Don't mind me, old friend. Help me think of a name.

Team Bumptious, said Gaius.

Gustave goes Off

Gillian Cosgriff walked on to the stage in a short red dress and sat down at the piano to sing. She was young and pretty, with a strong clear voice and an engaging stage presence. She had written most of the songs herself. She sang of being a waitress and being rejected for parts in musicals. She sang of Jasper who could not commit to a relationship. She charmed everyone, including Gaius, Gustave, the plump lady and the elderly row in front.

Gustave laughed when the plump lady laughed, but not quite as loud. Gaius could not take his eyes from Miss Gillian Cosgriff.

At times the stage was illuminated by a suspension of glittering stars. Starstruck, Gaius dreamed he was Jasper singing I Love You to Miss Gillian Cosgriff, rather than I Love Eu....rope and I Love U....niversity as Jasper had done. The failings of Jasper did not strike Gaius as comic in the least.

In no time the show was over. The plump lady stood up and melted away.

Thank god for that, said Gustave. I am free.

What do you mean, asked Gaius, waking up from his dream.

I mean, said Gustave, that I am in love wth Miss Gillian Cosgriff, and I am off tout suite to the stage door to beg her to become my mistress!

Gustave and Gaius at the Cabaret

It happens that I have two tickets for a cabaret show tonight, said Gustave Faubert, grandly. Would you like to accompany me, old friend?

Why, err, what is it? asked Pliny, somewhat taken aback by the unexpected invitation.

It is a comical musical presentation by a Miss Gillian Cosgriff,said Gustave. She is said to be very talented and amusing.

Comical and amusing, said Pliny doubtfully. Perhaps it's not quite me.

Of course it's you, roared Gustave. Get dressed. You're coming. Wear something red, he added. Or you'll stick out like a sore thumb.

Pliny borrowed my red scarf, Gustave called a taxi, and the two friends went out into the night.

Soon they were walking along King William Street, towards the Festival Theatre. The sky was black, the city lights sparkled on the dark river. It was cold. Pliny was glad of the red scarf.

Comical singing, he thought to himself. I'm sure I won't like it.

Here we are! said Gustave. How about a drink, Gaius?

Yes thank you, said Pliny, pleased to be called Gaius, which immediately made him feel more debonair.

Two cabaret cabernets, ordered Gustave, at the bar. My friend will pay.

Gaius paid, with no hard feelings. They joined a long queue of people wearing dark clothes with red accessories, and clutching glasses of wine. Soon the queue began to move into the theatre and up onto the stage behind the billowing red velvet curtains. Gustave and Gaius sat down at table 26, in the centre of the rapidly filling room.

Gaius was excited. It was a long time since he had been to a show. Gustave was chatting to a plump lady who had sat down in an empty chair beside him.

Excuse our backs, said a row of three elderly ladies on the far side of the table.

Certainly, said Gaius, taking a large swig of his red wine. The lights dimmed.

Enter Gustave Flaubert

He is a friend of mine, said Pliny.

Who is, Flaubert?

Yes, Flaubert. As luck would have it he is in town at present for the Cabaret Festival. Would you like to meet him?

I would, Pliny, I said. Why don't you invite him round.

Certainly, said Pliny. I'll give him a call.

So it was that later that evening there came a knock at the door.

Knock! Knock!

Pliny opened it.

Ho ho! Come in old friend, he said.

A portly man with a walrus moustache came in.

Ah, it is good to see you again, mon cher ami, he said to Pliny. Good evening, madame, he added, glancing in my direction. May I ask why you are staring at me in that fashion?

Oh, I said, forgive me Monsieur Flaubert, but I was expecting you to have a beard, either pointed or fringed.

No, no, said Flaubert, I have never grown a pointed or a fringed beard. I take it you have been reading my Sentimental Education?

I have, I said. Am I right then in assuming that the character with whom you most associate is the moustached Frederic?

Indeed, said Flaubert, puffing out his chest and twiddling his moustache. Frederic, c'est moi. As a younger man, of course.

He's a bit of a drip, you know, I said. He's passionate, but he never follows anything up.

I know, said Flaubert. I blame it on his mother.

Oh The French

The food of evil people is not in itself evil, I said.

It is if it is eaten for evil reasons, said Pliny.

Evil reasons? I said. Who eats food for evil reasons?

Aha, said Pliny. I shall tell you. During the French Revolution the Red Caps ate red food to represent the blood of the aristocrats. Tomatoes were a favourite because the nobility, wisely, did not like them.

Oh, the French, I said.

What do you mean, Oh the French? asked Pliny. You like the French. I see you are reading a French novel at this very moment.

I am, I replied. And that is why I say Oh the French. I'm reading Sentimental Education, by Flaubert.

A favourite of mine, said Pliny. Have you got to the part where he describes the beard?

The beard? It's not even about a beard.

It is about everything that is in it, said Pliny. And in it there is a description of a beard, which I found amusing.

Now you mention it, I do remember two beards. Was it the pointy one, or the one that was cut like a fringe?

It was the one that was cut like a fringe, in order to make its owner seem precociously serious, said Pliny. What a window into an era, he added. You could not make it up.

We All Know

Sing the Galumph Frog Song, said Pliny, finally.

Alright, I said.

I sang the Galumph Frog Song, as best I could.

That song doesn't make sense, said Pliny. Frogs don't go ladidadida.

I know, I said.

But the words are 'We all know frogs go ladidadida', said Pliny.

That's why it's funny, I said. Frogs don't really go ladidadida. They go galumph.

They don't go galumph either, in my experience, said Pliny.

What do they go, in your experience? I asked.

Ridip, said Pliny. As everyone knows. Your song is foolish.

Well, I said, so is your fear of tomatoes. Why are they evil? Were there evil tomatoes in ancient Rome?

Of course not, said Pliny. There is a website called Tomatoes are Evil. I obtain my information from there. The Aztecs used to eat them. And we all know how blood thirsty they were.

The Choice

Greetings, said Pliny the Elder. I did not expect to see you today. I thought you might have been delayed by the volcanic ash.

Oh no, I replied. That was only Melbourne. Here I am, as you see. How have you been? I see you haven't touched the organic baked beans, the hairy melon or the second hand bread.

I have been eating out, said Pliny. I did not wish to open your fridge, which contained evil tomatoes.

Nonsense, Pliny I said. Those tomatoes were not evil.

Take a look, said Pliny. They have developed evil black spots.

So they have, I said, opening the fridge. I shall have to make them into soup.

Then I shall eat out again, said Pliny. But first, tell me, how was your holiday in Sydney?

It was lovely Pliny, I said. My grandchildren are delightful. And I have learned some new songs.

Sing me one, said Pliny. I quite enjoy listening to music in the morning.

Would you like Hot Dog Hot Dog Hot Diggity Dog, The Galumph Frog Song, Or Nicholas Ned, I asked?

I don't know, frowned Pliny.

Enjoy the Rest

This interminable fish and chip saga, said Pliny the Elder. Is it over?

Yes it's over, I said. Everyone went home.

Except Mrs Hume, who was home, said Pliny.

How did you know that? I asked.

What do you mean? asked Pliny. You said she was.

I mean how did you know she was Mrs Home? I asked.

I didn't know that, said Pliny. I thought she was Mrs Hume.

She was actually Mrs Home, I said. Le Bon David, or David Hume, changed his name from Home to Hume because the English couldn't pronounce it.

That is difficult to believe, said Pliny.

It is, until you know that the Scottish way to pronounce Home is Hume, I said.

Are you sure? asked Pliny. I have never heard a Scotsman pronounce Home as Hume. I thought they pronounced it Hame.

Gosh, Pliny, I said , so they do. I wonder why he didn't change his name to Hame?

Perhaps because the French wouldn't be able to pronounce it, said Pliny. Anyway, when are you leaving for Sydney?

Oh yes Pliny. Tomorrow. I'll be away ten days.

No doubt as usual you have left me nothing to eat, said Pliny.

On the contrary, I said. There is a large hairy melon, one third eaten, a bowl of ripe tomatoes, a can of organic baked beans, and some second hand bread.

I hate tomatoes, said Pliny. They are evil. But I shall enjoy the rest.

Haysoos

The fish and chips were eaten and the plates were washed. Everyone was sitting around the table chatting. Mrs Hume had begun to warm to Sweezus.

You know, she said, I would be inclined to believe it, if you were Spanish.

Believe what? asked Sweezus, suppressing a burp of repletion.

You name being Jesus, said Mrs Hume. A lot of Spanish are called Jesus.

They are, but they pronounce it Haysoos, said Sweezus.

Do they really? said Mrs Hume. And do they pronounce Joseph Hoseph?

Hosay, I think, but I don't really know, said Sweezus, not being Spanish myself.

What a pity, said Mrs Hume. I like the Spanish. Except for that Alberto Contador.

We don't like him either, said Farky, butting in. He's our main rival in the Tour de France.

That's no reason for not liking him, said Le Bon David.

There you go, David, said Mrs Hume. Philosophising in that shallow Velosophy way.

Mother, said Le Bon David. I hadn't finished my argument.

Well, said The VeloDrone. It's been lovely, Mrs Hume, but we've all had a very long day, including, no doubt, yourself. I think it's time for us to be thinking of going.

Everyone stood up.

Well, thank you David dear, for picking me up and driving me home, said Mrs Hume. And good luck all of you in the Tour de France. Oh, and when you go out, would one of you mind turning my pot? The one in the corner with the tree? You look strong, she said, looking at Sweezus.

Alright, said Sweezus. No worries. Bye Mrs Hume!

Le Bon David grinned at The VeloDrone as they stepped out into the night.

That went pretty well, he said.

It did, agreed The VeloDrone.