It is Stage Seven. Ouvert is in Arthur's pocket. He is not very comfortable because of the other things in Arthur's pocket. A pencil. A notebook. A chocolate bar. A couple of dirty bandages.
Ouvert: Are we in La Rochelle yet?
Arthur: Are you joking, lucky stone? We have to finish the race. We're heading to La Planche des Belles Filles. And I'm going to win the stage now I've got you.
Ouvert: That's what you think. I'm not obliged to be lucky for you.
Arthur: Oh yes you are, lucky stone.
Ouvert: Stop calling me lucky stone. My name is Ouvert.
Arthur: That name rings a bell. Ouvert...pinhead! Are you the one Gaius called a pinhead? He said you were reading my poems?
Ouvert: Poems? What poems?
Arthur: Illuminations.
Ouvert: You're Arthur Rimbaud! Yes I was. They were really crap poems.
Arthur: They were wrung from my soul at great cost.
Ouvert: They should have stayed where they were.
Arthur: Shut up and start being lucky.
Ouvert: No. I choose who's going to be lucky. And it's not you, Arthur Rimbaud. It's....
Arthur: Who? Sagan! Not Sagan! Greipel? Not him!
Ouvert: Who's that just went past us?
Arthur: Froome.
Ouvert: Well, well! Lucky Froome!
.....
Not surprisingly, Froome goes on to win Stage Seven.
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1 comment:
Your lucky stones are truly world-wise. I love this ramble through France with you.
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