Montpellier - The day Before

Thurs 09.55,

Shannon Airport: Arrive with just ten minutes to spare.
Place awash with Connacht branded kit as team, management and fans are set to board the same flight. Smiles from two flight attendants is a great omen. A crash free flight sees us in Carcassone twenty-five minutes early but nobody told the shuttle bus. Bright day, cool wind but
dry.

14.00 (Local Time), Carcassone: A four man quango decides upon the best train to Montpelier. We have about an hour to kill so adjourn to a nearby restaurant where our Leader steps up to take control of the kitty and in calling the round omits his own libation, much to the amusement
of the staff. Cavalier calls for a Belgian brew earning scowls from the natives. A warm Carcassonian welcome for six of The Magnificent Seven sees us furnished with another application of refreshment. Cavalier makes good his earlier faux pas, narrowly avoiding a fine but surely it
was a close call. Perhaps the offence coming so early in the tour saving him. The Leader issues a caution. L'Haque's visit to MacDonald's fails to receive such mercy but CW who joined him is given a reprieve as the Leader considers he was led astray on his first tour.

15.30, Gare de Carcassone: Leader's office is questioned and a Mayo/Galway divide looms. It's a three-three split with CW in neither camp. Coup d'Etat? I guess we're in the right country! We sit in different carriages to avoid disaster and hum through the Languedoc coutryside. Seriously quiet these TGV yolks. Not a farm beast in sight but vineyards a-plenty. It's looking good.

17.00, Montpelier: Strange mixture of warm sunshine and cool breeze. We proceed to the town square, Place de la Comedie. Tourist Office is found and Cavalier despatched by the Leader to find the whereabouts of our hotel. Good directions and a street map are the bounty. Leader allows
Cavalier to direct the expedition, displaying great delegation skill.

Despite some murmurings from the doubters with a poor sense of direction the hostelry is located. Leader calls a muster in the bar next door in fifteen minutes - no messing about.

17.40, Paulaner Bar: A petit bier costs €2 in this little bistro.
Friendly welcome from staff and customers alike. Petit Cul decides it would be rude to leave after just one round, L'Haque readily agrees so we have another in the interests of international relations. It was later regretted by this author that the group didn't revisit this place even if only for "one or two".

18.10, Operation Grub: The choice of restaurant can be difficult when attempting to accommodate differing tastes. A pleasant twenty minute promenade fails to nail down any thing other than possibilities. Time for action and our Leader shows his worth singling out a narrow side street, "Lads we're going to eat up here" though on turning the corner I
could swear I hear him add "...or maybe not...". However instincts of such strength should not be ignored. A waitress and chef of a small establishment stub out their ciggies and open the door and the kitchen.

Delicious food follows, albeit slowly as we are likely their first
customers ce soir. To our healthy band of bon viveurs this matters not. Main courses, two bottles of wine, some beer, coffee and of course Ricard as the aperitif come to €25 a man including an above average tip.
We like this place.

20.00, Fitzpatrick's Irish Bar: Toulon v Saracens the main attraction. As all seasoned travelers know the town 'Irish Bar' will always be fake/forced and overpriced. We are not disappointed. Guinness with all the creaminess of skimmed milk at €6.80 a throw. Cavalier still insists on trying one earning a fine to add to the cost. The match is worthy of
these hardships though. As 'Irish Bars' go it isn't the worst.

20.30, Same place: The lenient approach to fines disappears. Our Leader turns into Rudi Juliani in the space of five minutes. General Waste seizes a pseudo-autocracy. He is Chemical Ali to Leader's Saddam Hussein. We're back in school as fines are incurred for leaving the table without his permission, except when buying beer and staying in
sight at all times. Saluting is compulsory. GW is himself fined for failure to ask such permission, and further reprimanded for failure to salute himself. L'Haque initiates a game of musical chairs with the front row seats changing hands with the frequency of Ronnie O'Sullivan.
 

GW hits him with a harsh but deserved fine for missing an outrageous forward pass that Leinster Lions would have taken pride in. This has become a tough station.
A twist in proceedings sees Le Cavalier introduce two ladies to the group. An Essex girl and her German colleague, and a mention of an Aussie Bar/Nightclub. The veterans who returned with intact memories of Dax are suddenly interested. Aussie Bar naturally being the draw. Indeed
GW manages to mention his wife to the German girl three times in one sentence. Some feat of linguistics. Unnamed single men among the Sept Touristes look on with envy but at least she's stopped his tyranny of fines.

Circa Late, Aussie Bar: Free entry and friendly staff. Great music and €7.50 a bottle of Victoria Bitter (VB for those who recall Dax). Even this scribe whose night club days are a thing of the past enjoyed this spot. Man Down! GW under the weight of all those punitive fines experiences difficulties with verticality. Cavalier despatched to get locals to grab us a cab. GW, along with Leader and Cavalier depart with
dignity intact. No bar in our hotel - now somebody is in for a large fine - no chance of doing further damage.

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