So you think you had a bad day.

This is the true story of what happened a friend of mine, over a period of 3 weeks.

My friend, who shall remain nameless, an estate agent, went into work on a bright sunny morning, to be told that the firm was ‘downsizing’, and he was made redundant with immediate effect.

This meant all his plans for the near future were put on hold. He had a new job, but this would not start for 4 months. He decided that the best thing he could do in the meantime, was to get on his motorcycle, and ride down through France, hoping to pick up some casual work, and also do some sightseeing.

He told all his friends he would keep in touch by e-mail. The first e-mail we received is reproduced below.

Hi **** trust all is well. The BMF sounded like a good bash, and as I mentioned on my text the French trip was a disaster. I left for France on the ferry and we had a 2 hour delay getting off, due to French teachers striking, so I was delayed enough to bugger up my first day plan.

So I rode down south of Le Mans, and pitched the tent on the banks of a river and got drunk.
Day 2 set off for the Vendee on the west coast to get a suntan, but as I left it started to rain. It got heavier the further I went, got to the vendee soaked through. Put the tent up on a site, dried out and got drunk again as it was difficult to do anything else.

During the night the rain got so bad it was coming in the tent, so I woke to find a bit of a flood. Bailing out I leant over, sat on my glasses and shattered both lenses, yes difficult to believe but it gets worse. After 2 days of not being able to get them repaired (because of them being Oakley no one would touch them), I spent the rest of the time with prescription sunglasses on in the pouring rain.

2 days later I had decided enough was enough, and set off back for Brittany to eat well, drink well, and see some culture, before deciding to come back via Roscoff, across to Ireland, and then to Blackpool to see my folks, and finally back to London. Left the vendee in pouring rain and set off on the 200 mile journey to St Malo, were I thought I would stay in a hotel and get some comfort.

On the way ran so low on fuel, couldn’t find a garage so pulled off into a village were the bike ran out, just outside a bar on a Sunday afternoon at 1.30pm. The owner said the nearest garage was 15km away, and he had a can and would call me a cab. Yup it didn’t turn up so eventually he gave me a lift, got going again and about half an hour later was booked into a hotel in St Malo.

As you could imagine got drunk again. The next morning arrives and yet again it is p.....ing down. So I decide enough is enough and head straight for Roscoff about 2 hours away, I have never seen rain like it.
Got to the port to find the Irish ferry’s only sail on Fridays, so booked a ticket to Plymouth and sat in the port for 10 hours before boarding. Not only had I ridden 2 hours to get here from St Malo from which I could have
sailed to Portsmouth, I had now added on another 2 hours on my journey back to London from Plymouth.

Riding home I pulled away on a hill to see the chain run freely over the back sprocket, and with no more adjustment left……….