The Monday Tour

This great French event came within two miles of me today.  To avoid the crowds and the great danger of spending money I watched on TV.  I watched very carefully as they made their way from Cambridge down into Essex, through Saffron Walden and Finchingfield ('the prettiest village in England') and headed towards Rayne.  It certainly revealed a lovely country scene along the way.  The villages, ancient churches,crops almost ready for harvest and the sun shining of medieval but much upgraded buildings.  The commentators prattled on as always, inane ramblings needless facts read from a script, often at the wrong time revealing their ignorance, and as they did so I waited to watch for the pelaton taking the humpback bridge over the old railway at Rayne just up the road.  I wanted to see them as they took the immediate sharp, narrow, right hand turn.  Naturally as the leaders entered the village the telly went for an advert break!

Grrrrrrr!  

Now who wishes to see, for the fortieth time, five minutes of bad adverts? Meaningless and irrelevant to the programme, indeed even the commentators make more sense than the adverts, yet when we enter a village they leave us for them!  Why not on the long boring roadway you eejits?  Grrrrr!

On the first day the 'British' rider Mark Cavendish fell and broke his collar bone. He was one tipped to win the race.  If these commentators manage to get through any sentence, whether about the race, the churches and castles passed by, the crowd or the colour of the sky without mentioning Cavendish I have not heard them.  The bias is unavailing, constantly spouted at every opportunity. Cavendish of course is out of the race. 

Lady DiTn thinks the commentators ought to try Nascar!  I would like to see Phil Liggett there also! Heart attacks abounding!

.