The last day dawned. I woke early and went to sit in the garden, it was quiet and cool. A French tourist came and sat at the chair next to mine despite there being plenty of others scattered all over the gardens. He didn’t say bonjour or even nod when I looked at him. I got up and farted as I walked by him, loudly, and hopefully pungently.
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I had breakfast with the others then took my coffee outside, I didn’t want to finish the trip but I knew today was the last day on the road. I’d got my Mojo working and I didn’t want to stop it.
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Wild Bill made the peacocks dance for their breakfast.
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Then we were off again. Not great roads………. just the Tizi-N-Test. Whatever you do, before you die, do this road, do it on a C90, do it on a Hardly Moving Son, but just do it on two wheels.
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I’m not going to post a picture. Go and see it.
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That night we went out in Marrakech. We had a meal, drank and smoked smelly cigars.
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Wild Bill and Ali Bar Bill were forgiven.
Did I mention that Greg, the Pan rider had dragged Victoria Beckham all around Morocco on his pillion seat? No? We'll here she is.....
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Some people got up late the next day. I did. I had a ride then tossed around and eventually got on a plane.
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The hostess still looked like a cheap hooker.
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Waiting for me at <st1
lace w:st="on">Luton</st1
lace> airport my lovely assistant looked like she always does, lovely.
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Thank You.
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