Another day. Still rather windy.
Before the start:
Vello: Today should be relatively easy.
David: That's good. I'm not looking forward to the mountains.
Marx: I am.
Vello: You would be. Do you know what a pain you're becoming?
Marx: I'm sorry if you think that. Is it not the duty of each of us to do our utmost?
Mark Cavendish (wheeling his bike past): Too bloody right, man!
Vello: See what I mean?
David: Cocky!
Parrot (landing): Are you talking to me?
Vello: Ha ha, no he wasn't. Where have you come from?
Parrot: The Parc des Oiseaux. I saw Phil Liggett.
David: Oh really. What did he have to say?
Parrot: Whistles and various bird calls. But he's tone deaf. It was garbled bird rubbish.
David: I meant in English.
Parrot: He thinks they need more crowd control.
Vello: Does he indeed?
Marx: He may be right. Remember what happened to Terence.
Parrot: What happened to Terence?
David: He slipped off the back of Arthur's bike near the devil.
Vello: He got a terrible fright. Seems he and the devil have a history.
Parrot: Impossible. The devil is German.
Vello: Not that particular devil, but the general representation, red outfit, pitchfork, you know...
David: It's all nonsense of course.
Parrot: I must find him!
Marx: And we must get ourselves to the start line.
.........
Mid race:
Four riders are in the lead.
Roy: This is so boring, I might fall asleep any minute.
Howes: Here, have a caillette.
Elmiger: What's that you're giving him?
Howes: A caillette. I got a whole box of them in the Ardèche.
Benedetti: What are they? They look like mouldy grey stones with green streaks.
Howes: Yeah, but they're nicer than that. Help me out guys. They're weighing me down.
Elmiger: Okay, let's all have one.
Roy: Mm. Not bad. I detect....err...pork...liver...bacon...lard...spinach...that'll be the green stuff....and walnuts.
Benedetti: Listen to Master Chef!
Howes: Ha ha!
Roy: Watch out behind guys. Here comes Team Etixx Quickstep.
Too late!
The caillette-eaters are reeled in 3.5 km from the finish.
......
The finish:
Team Etixx Quickstep has done a good job for Marcel Kittel.
Marcel powers towards the finish.
Mark Cavendish is not far behind.
Suddenly. Whip-woosh! Cavendish darts out from behind Kittel, streaks in front of him, cutting him off from winning.
Kittel raises his fist.
Proving, if it needed proving, that the devil is not necessarily a German.
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