Each and every day La Caravanne precedes the cyclists and hands out what must be tonnes of plastic hats, trinkets, sweets and publicity material. The carnival atmosphere is fragile in the extreme as grown men fight children on their hands and knees for a free plastic frisbee, no doubt made in a far eastern sweat shop.
Families hunt in packs with the mother holding the booty haul, the father securing the immediate territory and covering the rear to mop up stray trinkets. The prettiest or neediest looking children are pushed to the front to melt the hearts of the girls on the publicity floats while the facially challenged children operate at ground level. This the most dangerous, working between the legs of adults and facing a swift rebuke if they stray into an adjoining territory.
I can only imagine how the post Caravanne analysis would play out if the family haul failed to meet expectations. If little Jean-Christophe missed a hat or a green foam PMU wavy hand. Straight to bed with no tea and make sure you do better next time. The honour of the family is at stake.
What of all the collectibles? Once the frisbee has made it maiden flight and fallen apart. What possible use is there for a green foam wavy hand once the peleton has passed? One must suspect landfill. I'm as guilty as the next, fighting grown men for a pack of Haribo but I have committed a greater sin. I took a green wavy hand and denied the family next to me and to this day, it sits in a plastic bag in my spare room, un-waved. Shame on me.
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