241 DEAR DIARY, DAY FIVE…

Dear Diary,

I'm writing this update while sat in bed. After three days of running to a deadline, meeting the Rally crew, signing in and then heading out across Europe, it is good to have a bit of a break. As I always say, never underestimate the power of a good lie-in.  Oh, and I’m so hungover. I'm hung like a horse over. I'm hung drawn and quartered over. I’m hungover and over and over. More on that later.

The day started with a quick trip from Menaggio to Como, which involved driving through streets originally designed for horse-drawn carts. Narrow and twisty, they snaked between houses with no pavements, making every corner a challenge. It felt like we were on a Scalextrix track, but with buses coming the other way driven by Italians (they REALLY don’t care, see a gap, head for it, what will be will be).

The meeting point was a McDonald's in Como (the organisers explained that Maccie D’s always comes up in Google Maps, which makes it easier to find…but people still get lost). There were more bemused staff as more slightly hungover Englishmen came in looking for coffee and pancakes, this time all wearing Hawaiian shirts.

As we were leaving, a local approached us and asked what we were doing. I explained about the rally and how far we had come, and he exclaimed: “You did it in this?”  I was simultaneously hurt and proud. I then told him we were only halfway and heading to Spain. He looked genuinely impressed (and so he should be).

The drive from Como to the Med was probably the least impressive of the trip. Long boring bits of motorway only livened up by sharing the road with Italians who don’t care. What I have realised is that in Italy, motorways fall into two categories: as smooth as silk or as rough as a bombed-out airfield. Most of the day was on the latter, sadly.

We stopped for a coffee outside Genoa, a coffee that Richie left on his roof as he drove away. Cue frantic gesticulation from some locals as they ran to save his Americano. Disaster averted, we headed to Monaco where Carl had a cunning plan to sneak us into the principality via ‘the backies’. This involved some corners taken on full lock as we inched down the mountain.

Eventually we popped out on the famous track at the bottom of the hill, heading to Casino Square. And we sat there in a traffic jam for 10 minutes. We weren’t really testing the limits of our car’s performance at that particular point in time, if I’m being honest. Turns out the holdup was because tourists were taking pictures of all the exotic cars outside the Hotel de Paris.

What could be more exotic than three little runabouts covered in stickers that had travelled 1300 miles in five days?!  Take pictures of us, you ghouls! So they did! People were turning away from Ferraris to take pictures of our three little cars. The official Rally photographer also snapped us as we glided through the square, trying not to run over a tourist.

We followed the track down the hill and came to the famous tunnel. I let the car in front of me go on, lowered my windows, hit the Sport button and floored it. The sound was glorious for about three seconds! I’ll no doubt return home to find a speeding ticket with the postmark Monte Carlo on it - totally worth it.

We left the excess of Monaco and headed to our digs in Nice. We chose this place as it has secure, underground parking. The ramp down to the car park was almost as steep and twisty as anything we had experienced up the Gotthard Pass. It took two goes to get my tiny car around the corner, and then I scraped my spoiler on the front across the floor. Nightmare.

We arrived, got changed and took a stroll along the Promenade des Anglais, taking in the views across the Mediterranean and enjoying the pleasant 88* temperature. We went for food. Richie accidentally knocked half a bottle of red wine all over the front of my beige kecks, meaning I headed to the presentation night looking like I was staging some sort of dirty protest.

We got finisher medals and swapped war stories with our fellow competitors. There were some tales, from constant cooling fluid leaks that were ‘fixed’ by peeing into the system, a two-hour search at the Italian border to almost being denied entry into Monaco - and that was just one team!!!

We also watched the Netherlands vs Japan game next to a few excitable students from the land of the rising sun who were studying at university in Bristol. The bar was filled with Dutch fans who were lovely, but we stood with the underdog and ended up ‘adopting’ the students - by adopting, I meant buying them IPAs and making them drink Baby Guinness. We left the pub at 2AM and sent the students on their way. We saw them coming back the other way a little while later, clearly lost but in good spirits.

We eventually got home, and I apparently sent out a Dear Diary message, although I have no memory of it.  It is 13:29; I might have another hour in bed. Oh my poor, poor head…

Yours,

Rob