What a fantastic Tour de France we’ve had for the past three weeks. Some of the scenery was stunning as well as the racing itself. Brings back memories of the time I was working in France in the mid 70’s. Mainly around Paris and Rouen but now and again a bit further afield. Once again my “little grey cells” have been stirred into action by watching the final stage of the race right in the heart of Paris and its reminded me of something that happened there in 76.
I was working for Invicta Transport out of Hart Street in Maidstone pulling for Wilgo Freight from Essex. I’d done my usual five drops and ended up in Troyes to the east of Paris. Once empty I telephoned in for my reload. It turned out to be hundreds of rolls of fancy cloth from a very small establishment just south of the Seine in the centre of Paris and was destined for an equally small shop in east London. I was told to make my way to the “Hotel de Ville” and ask for instructions from somebody there.
I entered Paris on the autoroute from Troyes and then continued along the road to the north of the Seine all the time getting closer to the centre of Paris. However, not being sure exactly where the “Hotel de Ville” was I stopped to get directions. Unfortunately the bloke I asked was ■■■■■■ and by the time I realised it he had jumped up into the passenger seat of my F89 and was gesticulating wildly for me to go. Oh well, I thought he seems to know the area best to follow his instructions. We did indeed arrive at the “Hotel de Ville” after a few more kilometres and I thanked my guide and thought good, I can get rid of him now. However, he had seen the address that I had written down of my collection point. No no he shouted as I stopped and again he was gesticulating wildly and pointing across the river. “Forget it” I said, I’m getting proper instructions from the small group of gendarmes on guard there.
With that I walked up to them and in my best French asked the way. My ■■■■■■ guide was not giving up though. He pushed his way through the tourists milling about and grabbed hold of one of the gendarmes who slowly turned round and uttered something like “go away” and gave him a small prod in the chest. With that the guide just seemed to pass out or was seeking attention. He fell backwards and laid sprawled on the pavement on his back seemingly unconscious. The gendarmes just turned there backs on him and continued giving me instructions on how to get to my destination which was just over the river.
Things by now were getting a little out of hand as some of the tourists were getting concerned for the poor ■■■■■■ guide lying on the pavement with the gendarmes showing no interest in him one little bit. Uniforms were being tugged, voices were being raised, the crowd was getting bigger and more belligerent and I’m sure I heard someone say something about “police state”. It was at this point, just as a full blown riot was about to happen, that I thought it best to take my leave. I returned to my lorry, jumped up into the cab and took one last look back at my ■■■■■■ guide who, although being the centre of all the commotion, was being trampled on by his supporters and others who liked a good riot.