Alarm bells were ringing at crack sparrow fart and it was time to board the Big Cat to France. Once on board Diabetic Dave (Bomber) cut waves through the foreign bastards in an attempt to land the biggest plate of croissants and coffee since Gordon Ramsey said "fancy a French breakfast?" Big Ben got rid of the aggravating rat up his arsehole that had been created by Egon Mouldy's Haggis supper the previous evening. The rest of the team settled down to a bumpy channel crossing. On arrival in France the crew were greeted to persistent precipitation (it was fuckin' pissing down). A quick stop for French sheckles and then we were on the road again.
It didn't take long for Jackie, Bomber and Tim to hit the hay, complaining about not getting and previous shut-eye due to Big Jock's incessant snoring. Big Jock plugged into his iPod and the journey to Brittany was underway.
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