Because what else would you drink with it?

This photo doesn't have anything to do with my day, but I just couldn't believe that a shop selling foie gras would use this sign.

I set off this morning to meet S in Puigcerda. After consulting the official French traffic site I decided to avoid Perpignan and go via the Haute Vallée de l'Aude, a much more rural route that officially takes three hours. Big mistake. After Axat I discovered that the road was closed and I was sent on a long, winding road up into the mountains. It got higher and higher and more and more remote, and simultaneously and worryingly I started noticing that the car was losing power. When I finally got to the junction with the main road, I stopped, the car stalled, and the oil warning light came on. Great! It started again right away, so I continued, hoping I could reach civilisation before it conked out altogether. Did I mention that I don't have a mobile phone?

On a long descent, the light came on again with an unhappy beep. But I could see a village below, so I coasted on down, hazard lights flashing, and swerved neatly into a parking space just as the car lost power altogether. Happily, I had managed to park next to a hotel. The lovely Belgian lady who ran it lent me her mobile and I spent a merry half hour on the phone to S and the insurers. I didn't feel particularly stressed about it because I was just so pleased I'd managed to break down in the right place, and not on a deserted mountain pass.

It was now one o'clock. What more logical thing to do than sit down in the restaurant and have lunch? The breakdown truck arrived while I was eating and not surprisingly said they'd have to tow it back to the garage. So I left them to it, finished my lunch and phoned the insurers again. They were willing to call a taxi to either take me to my destination or take me home. Since I was only about half an hour's drive from Puigcerda, this was the obvious choice.

A certain amount of discussion followed when I revealed that the reason they couldn't find it on their map was because it's in Spain. "Oh, we can only take you to the frontier." "It's on the frontier." "Where's the nearest place in France? We can get you to there." Eventually they agreed to check with the taxi driver who confirmed that the only thing separating Puigcerda from Bourg-Madame is a bridge about 30 metres long. So they generously agreed that he could drive me that 30 metres. And I finally got here only about four hours late. Sadly missing all of stage two of the Tour de Yorkshire!