Fucking hell, me being a smug git, setting out on my Big Trip 09, checked all the important shit on this here sooper-dooper Netbook, namely that it will connect to the Interwebs and that I can view um, "art" on it should I find the urge, but didn't check that Microsoft Bastard Word was on it.

No, is the answer to that, leaving me to type this in Notepad, the biggest sack of shitsince Hugh Hefner was changed after along weekend. But still, I'm soldiering on, in the fucking freezing cold on this French campsite near Chalons-sur-Saune. Up till now things haven't been so bad, but the cold is getting to be a problem. I'm a big Wendy, obviously, and I don't like being cold, so ner. The sun has been shining, but the wind has been terrible, the wholejourney thus far has been hard work, huge gusts of cold wind taking the bike on exposed stretches of road, which, let's face it,is quite a lot of France. It's a HUGE country, vast stretches of agricultural land which make East Anglia look like a window box.

From Dover I jumped across to Calais (on a ferry dumbass, I'm not Evel Knievel) and headed straight down the toll road, away from the gloomy North......towards the gloomy Centre. I've not been hooning it, no point really, so trundled down to Reims yesterday, overnighted there and trundled down through Champagne. Beautiful country, wonderful, but you'll just have to take my word for that, I went to switch on my other new toy, my Helmet Camera (oo-er!) but the bastard battery was flat. Ho hum.

The worst thing about travelling through foreign lands is seeing exactly how shit your home is. France, as I say, is huge, so that'sprobably why the population has plenty of room to live and breath, without feeling the need to stick four fucking bungalows ona piece of land where there has previously been one old farm building. That's something I've never been able to understand - why would anyone want to move to the countryside then buy a house which is cramed next door to a load of the same sort of scum you moved there to get away from? If I move to the countryside, it's because I want to be left alone and whenever anyone approaches my gaffe, I can see them coming for 2 miles. Anyway, France is not trying to fill every last inch of free space with coookie cutter houses or Barrat Homes.

Driving through the cities like Dijon, you aren't thinking you have been transported to Lahore, no Onions glinting in the sun as you approach (like happened to me as I neared Warwick the other day. No view of the castrle from miles away, stern and imposing,oh no, the first thing you see is a gleaming white temple dome. WTF? How has it come to this?) The French would eat them alive, I'm sure there are mosques and temples here, but they aren't EVERYWHERE, and the medieval churches still dominate the skyline here.

I did see some pikeys though, fucking hell did I?! Of course they are not like the homegrown (Irish) gyppo scum we have, these are traditional swarthy pikeys. It appears you have to own a Mercedes Sprinter to become one, and had 20 kids in the back. And the strange thing is, these pikey bastards appear to be earning their living, not stealing anything not nailed down, dealing drugs and swindling old ladies like our domestic vermin. Of course they are picking the fruit, good honest work, so fair play to them. I have no doubt they would steal the shirt off my back, but at least they are appearing to work, not just cruising around in the latest model Range Rover (untaxed), looking for crime to commit. (Just how many drives do you need to resurface before you can afford one of those anyway? And what about the rest of them in the family, what about their luxury motors, where did the cash come from for those? What? It's racist to ask those sorts of questions? Oh, silly me, of course....)

So, back to the plot, what else have I seen of note? Weeeeell, apart form stunning scenery, not a lot, still early days. There was an awful amount of French military vehicles on the road yesterday, along with low level fighter jet passes. Considering the French aren't exactly noted for their military prowess, not since Mr Bonaparte had his stubby little arse kicked, they seem to do an awful lot of "exercises" (ie. driving about their own country). I bet they have about 12 troops in Afghanistan total, the cunts. Or maybe they just knew I was here, and though they'd show some muscle to show what will happen if I decide to unwind with a little drinkie here before dinner......

Today, on towards Lyon and beyond, far too mippy here even in the sunshine. Looks like Spain will be seeing my hairy arse very soon.