Stage Eighteen, and the members of Team Philosophe are feeling positive. Sweezus's scratches are healing. Gaius's tummy is settled. Arthur is composing a poem in his head about winning. Belle et Bonne rides alongside, on the Vespa. Ouvert is glued to the map in her pocket.
One hundred and twenty kilometres out, a large dog runs on to the road, and causes a crash. Gilbert, Menchov, Farrar and Vichot fall off their bikes. Team Philosophe passes the melée unscathed.
Gaius: Phew! That was lucky!
Sweezus: Yeah! Far out! That could have been us.
Arthur: I thought you two were philosophers.
Ouvert (poking his head out of Belle et Bonne's pocket) : Ha-ha! Philosophers. Phoo!
Sweezus: It could have been us.
Arthur: No, it couldn't.
Gaius: If we'd been just two seconds faster........
Arthur: Exactly. That's just what I mean.
Ouvert: Hee-hee!
Belle et Bonne: Hush! Now Ouvert. I want you to think very hard about Brive-la-Gaillarde.
Ouvert: Hard, about Brive-la-Gaillarde. Whee! Poetry, Arthur. What do you think?
Arthur: I'm a modernist. I never rhyme.
Gaius: Never rhyme! What sort of poems do you write?
Arthur: They're in the form of prose.
Sweezus: So how are they poems?
Arthur: The prose is poetic.
Ouvert: Poetic and pathetic! Poetry, Arthur!
Arthur: That's not a rhyme.
Ouvert: Yes it is! Isn't it Belle et Bonne?
Belle et Bonne: This is counter-productive. Team Philosophe, put your heads down and ride faster. See Mark Cavendish up ahead? Try and catch him. As for you Ouvert, are you ABSOLUTELY SURE you want to go home?
Ouvert: Home, home! I want to go home on the train.
Belle et Bonne: By yourself? Changing at Bordeau?
Ouvert (looking alarmed): Aren't you coming with me?
Belle et Bonne: No. I'm going to Paris. Would you like me to post you instead?
Ouvert: Post me? No way! Boo-hoo! I'll never get home!
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