Because I am a total wimp and I need to be in bed by midnight, I will not know the result. I will not seem them roll, teeth chattered and weary into Roubaix; I will miss the next skin peeling tumble; I will not seen any more “chute sans gravité“; I will not know if it’s SaxoBank or the cobblestones that’s calling the shots.
But I’ll be thinking of the freckle. And wishing them all bon chance.
And wishing bon chance also to their Melbourne compadres – riding the Melburn Roobaix, an extremely enjoyable homage to the world’s most famous one day cycling race. Sadly, registrations are currently fini. And, if like me, you’re feeling stupid when you try to register for the waiting list, and you can’t tell if you did it right, don’t fret, I believe the list is so long you’ll be struggling to get a place. No harm in trying! Fyxomatosis says another 40 places are coming up next week.
But if we both miss out, maybe you can come along with me tosee the 380 men and (if we’re lucky) 20 women who will be riding on the day. I will be hoping to snap plenty of hot helmets, which will hopefully make me forget that the whole silly Melbourne cycling scene is just a scene, and scenes are silly and sometimes unfriendly and sexist and reflective of the whole world which can equally suck. Ne complainez pas, if women want rides that are welcoming to them, then, hell, we should organise them our damn selves.
ps on other matters French, I just wanted Julie and Julia and it’s totalement merde, and makes me want to stop blogging, because it’s obviously the domain of narcissists.
eleanor j jackson 
You speak beautiful Franglais.
It’s all those episodes of ‘Allo ‘Allo I watched as a child.