After spending a few hours kipping in a boiling hot car in Battersea Park's car park surrounded by other people sleeping in/on/under their cars, we were rudely awoken at 6 a.m. by the beginning of the rally. We had a lovely breakfast washed down with a cup of "coffee", and stretched out the disfigurements inflicted by trying to sleep bolt upright in a small car. We were quickly ready for the off, so ready we seized our chance to sneak ahead in the queue to the stage - the keen beans that we are. Each car got its moment of glory to climb - or attempt to climb - to the top of the stage for a quick photo op under the rally banner, so needless to say we spent awhile sitting in traffic. When the time came for us, we climbed with a quick and graceful scrape of our underside on the ramp - but hopefully nothing our sump guard can't handle.

 

The rally was meant to start with a convoy through London. What actually happened was us chasing anything that looked like a rally car. It seems we're not the only ones with a poor sense of direction, as most people were instantly lost. We spotted other cars all over London as we headed past various landmarks and over tower bridge.

 

As we left London towards Dover we spotted a car in the distance stopped at a set of traffic lights. As we pulled up a long side it was clear London was about to witness something special, a quick glance between Chris and the challenger gave conformation of what we all already knew. Hands were clenched around steering wheels, eyes were fixed on the traffic light ahead as a single bead of sweat trickled down the forehead of our opponent. The traffic light changed to green and was met with a roar of struggling 1 litre engines. Both cars flew off the mark, reaching speeds in excess of 20mph in only a matter of minutes - a pensioner on a mobility scooter could have left us both in their dust.  Needless to say they didn't stand a chance against our glorious 107.

 

Back on the open roads towards Dover we over took other teams left, right, and centre - well mostly on the right because undertaking is neither big nor clever. We had bought a flexi-ticket when we booked our ferry so could get on an earlier ferry if there was space available, the only problem being all other teams had the same plan. With gravity on our side we arrived 6 hours early for our 4 o'clock ferry, luckily there was space on the earlier ferry for us. Looking around on the ferry it was easy to spot fellow ralliers, they were the ones fast asleep. It seems we weren't the only ones to attempt a sleep in the car.

 

With the addition of a note (reminding to drive on the right) taped to the windscreen I was ready to tackle the first foreign roads. We pointed to somewhere in Belgium and spent the next few hours heading that way, we passed a few rally teams then we were facing Europe alone. Once we arrived in Namur and had a confusing time trying to fill the car with petrol, we parked up and had a look around. It seems Namur can be seen in 10 minutes, so we got back in the car and headed out into the country side to find a secluded place by the side of the road where we could pitch our tent for the night. A mile down the road we stumbled upon a campsite; it seems if you ask for something the Belgium countryside provides.

 

Putting up the tent was no challenge for a pair of professionals like us, the stove on the other hand turned out to be a fickle mistress. Some spilled petrol, and many a match later (with our fire extinguishers at the ready) we were no closer to having a lit camping stove - I have my doubts that petrol is even flammable. The pair of German guys staying next to us - riding their motorbikes to the French coast - took one look at the stove and had it lit in seconds. With my camping ego bruised, I haven't attempted to lite the stove myself for the fear of failure. Who needs cooked pasta anyway?!