A SPANNER IN OUR PLANS

Every year we take the camper van to a spot on the Tour de France route.
This year the plan was for Paul to join us in Massat where he has a property.
Well, as so often happens, the best laid plans of mice and men get screwed up, and the alternator (whatever that is) gave up the ghost.
Anyway, via complicated and convoluted arrangements, we got there eventually an all stayed at the Hotel Maxil in Massat. And the mountain came to Mahommed, meaning that the cyclists came right past the hotel beer garden, which was very convenient.

Too bad Paul, you'll just have to wait for your birthday pole (see previous blog entry), which is still in the camper van in the garage in Mézin.

Lynne waiting to fight the French kid for the samples thrown out by vehicles in the Tour de France caravan.

Despite a succession of late nights and hangovers, Paul insisted on some commando training in the Pyrenees.

POLITICALLY INCORRECT POLE

I don't often get involved in sculpture - it's much too hard, it takes too long, and I keep hitting my hand with the hammer.
But Paul turns 40 in September and I thought it would be nice to give him something a bit different for his property, La Folie, near Massat in the Pyrenees. (And hopefully more memorable than 40 cans of VB or 40 pairs of underpants.) Hopefully a 2.5 meter high burial pole might just do the trick.
Some balls are still in the air at the moment, but I've sent him a pic and the details of the complicated logistics involved in getting it there - if he really wants it.
We're meeting him at Massat on Wednesday anyway to watch the Tour de France. Which means that if he does want it, we might be able to get it to him then. But I'll have to rope it to the roof of the camper van and then drive it up to La Folie on the Pyrenean version of the Kakoda Trail in Papua New Guinea. (We've been up there once before, but it was really scary in the camper van. Very steep, through narrow streets in tiny hameaus and with precipitious drops on all sides on every bend in the track. When we got back down last time, Lynne, summed things quite succinctly when she said, 'Fuck! I'm never doing that again!' But she might have to, depending on Paul's final decision).
So time will tell. What will happen to the pole? Will it be acceptable to all concerned? Will it get up the mountain? Will Lynne survive the climb? And will the termites like it as much as I do?
(If you find this kind of cliff hanger stuff interesting - come back soon to find out about the Tour de France - and what happened to the burial pole).

Here's the pole in our garden at La Petite Galerie with no one, as far as we know, buried anywhere near it. Not for the moment anyway.

Oh, and I nearly forgot: copying Aboriginal burial poles is considered to be politically incorrect in some circles. Hopefully this doesn't apply to my pole (soon to be Paul's if he decides to take it). Here's why. It's not a burial pole because no one will be buried with it. It was done in France - not in Australia. Not many people will see it in the Pyrenees (if that's where it winds up), so hopefully politically incorrect sensitivities will be less developed in la France profonde*, and therefore less likely to be disturbed. 
(* = the Boondocks)