It seems to me there's a lot of traffic on the site at the moment, but unless you count killing cats, pingus etc, there's really not a great deal happening in the land of Le Mnas. The lull before the storm so to speak. I guess things will get better as we ease into spring and pre qual is just around the corner.
Which leads me very neatly into the subject of this thread and that's Tramps. The bronchitus follows on later. I've never actually seen a tramp in Le Mnas curcuit but we saw a cracker in 1988 on the way to the race. Generally I have no wish to make sport of homeless drunken people but he really was remarkably good, if you have a finely honed sense of the disgusting. If you don't, then I suggest you stop reading now.
We had stopped for a ham'n'cheese roll at a roadside cafe just south of the curcuit and were just tucking in with a Biere Grande when we all looked at each other as if to say WTF is that horrible smell. I thought I may have trodden in something repugnant. But that would be ridiculous of course because I never do. Basically, we could smell him before we could see him. Around the corner he hove into sight, flies buzzing about his matted head, he was singing and swearing at the cars in the road. Clasped in his hand was a bottle of Normandy cider. He had clearly consumed tens of thousands of them over the years. It was equally obvious that hygene was not over high on his list of priorities. His face was black with filth and was a disgraceful sight. Given the temperature that day, I could not understand his requirement for wearing six thick overcoats. He had also seemingly spilled something vile in his trousers, I hate to think what it could have been, but it certainly added to the general aroma of uncleanliness.
Anyway, fortunately for us he collapsed into the hedge opposite our roadside table before he could come over and show us what was in his carrier bag. I don't know what was in there but it had almost certainly been dead for some time. The stench was by now indescribable. Our friend was now reclining in the hedge and he had a coughing fit as he lit up a Gaulloise.
We watched with morbid facination as a bright green bolus of bronchial mucus slowly began to develop in his left nostril. Gradually, it trickled in one long thick string down his upper lip, off his chin and down the front of his overcoat. It was fully one foot long. By now, I have to confess we where having a degree of difficulty in finishing our delicious sandwiches.
Now comes the really horrible bit. Our friend appeared to be upset that the snot was ruinning his appearance, so he pressed a finger against his right nostril and sucked in. The stringy dayglo snotty thing went into reverse and quickly shot back up his chin and face before disappearing back to where it had come from. It had entirely vanished! Magic! But ACK ACK ACK!!! Queue to barfing all round from our lot. I will never forget it. We were back in the Cavalier before you could say Claude Greengrass.
Like I say, not much going on round here at the moment.
