Thanks, Graham. Yes, during the great freeze of Christmas 1962 all our pipes froze. My dad and I would wrap up our poo in newspaper and put it in a Harrods or Fortnum’s bag, drive to Ipswich and leave it on the front seat with the door unlocked. Always gone when we returned. A slow but certain way of flushing….
Bunting going up now. I’m tempted to skip riding to the Col du Galibier tomorrow and watch the race swoop round the corner that’s at the top of the slope and a couple of minutes from my door.
A few weeks ago our long steep hill got a surprise new surface — after years of neglect it was so cracked it was like cobblestones — and today the direction signs for tomorrow’s @LeTour went up, so I’m guessing the mayor used the race to get a subsidy to improve the road.