Rough Runnings

Leamington Spa - Calais

With everyone staying at Kim's on Saturday night, the alarm clock was an unwelcomed noise at 7am on the first day of our holiday. However, once the bleary eyes had woken, and we'd reminded ouselves of the adventure that lay ahead, we were game.

All packed up and ready to go, the Mercedes 190E and it's crew headed to the first waypoint, Wallingford to Kim's parents for a good traditional cooked braeakfast.

Come 9.30, we viewed Wallingford from the rear-view mirror and set our sights on Dover, While the trip was pretty normal, we did notice the gazes and the thumbs up as our fully decaled Merc literally slowed down the outside lane.

Making good time, we had a two hour wait in Calais. Joe and Nath performing a few early checks gave the car a clean bill of health, while Kim tried to get an hours kip on the back seat.

2 hours later and ready to board, ignition on, and turn key..........

.... nothing.

Yes, Kim had been listening to the Merc's choons, and drained all the oompf from the battery. So it was all about the push start. Being not the most ideal car to do such a rally, we soon realised while we felt we looked quite cool in a lowered Merc, the heat rose when we completely bottomed out on the ferry ramp. With sparks flying we then bottomed out again deep inside the bowels of the Sea Cat.

The helpful advice from the parking marshall "Mate you wanna go sideways a bit over that hump" was tastefully jeered at by the team.

After a choppy 45 minutes, we slowly walked down to the car deck, walking gingerly towards the car crossing fingers and toes that the car hadn't mated with the 405 in front or the Mondeo behind.

Phew.

Nathan skillfully reverse-bump-stared the car inside the Sea Cat, and we knew we could recharge the battery effectively during the journey from Bologne to Calais.

Arriving in Calais, and our campsite which we had tried to phone a million times, it cam as no surprise then that there was no one in the "acceuil" and after phoning some random French man's mobile and being told that the caretaker would come and see us,we gave up and checked into the Hotel D'Auberge de Jeunesse - no expense spared.

Rendez-Vousing at Le Holiday Inn, we started to meet our rivals, and in a typical rosbif fashion, costumes were a-plenty.

Settling down for the evening in the hotel bar, we started to suss out the competition. Whether they had more LEDs than us, more NOS, or the ultimate advantage - less bloody foreigners in the car.......

Returning the Merc to the hotel concierge (Kim) to be parked in the street outside, the rough runnings team retired in preparation for their long cross continental journey ahead.

Calais - Millau - 570 miles

Always a relief when you wake up to find the car that will be your home for the next two weeks and your chariot for 4000 miles in exactly the same place where you left it. So a good start to the first day. Our rendez-vous in the CitiEurope car park proved to be an eventful beginning to our rally.

The myriad of vehicles that turned up was simply hard to fathom. Among the most bizzare: A V8 Ambulance with working blue lights, unfortunately it now has some desiger roof scratches due to the height limit barrier to the car park being 2.2m, and their Amblance being 2.7m high. Two hearses, complete with skeleton sunbathing on the roof, a stretched Merc, a completely 'astrA'-turfed Astra. A brown carpeted Rover called the Gerbil, an Audi 100.....quid, oh and our money is on the Austin Allegro breaking down first.

9am and we were off. Into the driving Calais rain, we received our challenge for the day which was to buy as many things as possible for 1euro. Heading for "toutes directions" and signs for Paris we hit the Perifique at midday. Hectic is the only word I can think of for this part of the trip. The french seem to have an annoying habit of changing lane, then indicating.

The satellite tracker has been very intermitant, and hence you guys reading this will probably look at the map and think that we are still in bed. We are waiting for them (whoever them is!) to re-launch the satellite.

Mid afternoon and we experience our first failure. Kim hanging out of the window on the Autoroute taking photos of fellow "team Unagi" managed to push the window down so that it wouldn't return to closed. In minutes, Nath was in the back fault finding, and in the time it took Joe to visit the little boy's room, he had the trim off and was fixing the the most significant issue to date.

In an attempt to buy as many things for 1euro, we planned a cunning stop off in Orleans, where we raided restaurants buying sugur lumps, and tea bags for 5c. Kim trying in his best French to explain why he wanted a receipt for such basic provisions.

Onwards into the afternoon, the rain returned after 3 hours of blistering heat - hard rain. Nathan driving at this point pointed out how well the Yokohamas were slicing through the standing water.

GPS still not working - Houston, can you please sort this bloody thing out!

Arriving in Millau at 8pm and all concerned were craving the amber nectar. We handed in our 13 items bought for 1euro. Thoroughly beaten by no less than 4 other teams. Tomorrow we try harder!

With a thunderstorm breaking overhead, we felt it necessary to pitch up the tent and then return for beer.

End of day 1.

No. of push starts: 0
No. of Nathan's music tracks dissed: 5
No. of car components Kim broke: 1
No. of rivals broken down: 3 that we know of
Average temperature of laptop - 82degrees
No. of Windows restarts: 10,004

Millau - Andorra La Vella - ~300 miles

Having to park the car outside the campsite due to arriving late home, and big mother locking us out, Nathan spent much of the night awake acting as centurion when upon hearing what he thought might be a 190E engine firing in the middle of the night, getting out of bed to walk down to the other end of the site to check that the car was still there.

Another early start, and we head down to a local car park to meet with the rest of the entrants.
Street Safari certainly knows how to make an impact on the towns it visits. Horns honking, and sirens sounding, it's quite a mish-mash of 100 quid erotica.

Everyone in good spirits having made it this far, apart from the Lancia that had broken brake hoses in Orleans and was waiting for the car to be fixed.

Heading out of Millau, you immediately arrive at Millau bridge a stunning feat of (English!) engineering, the tallest road bridge in the world and it was an immediate stop for us to get some images to convince our sponsors that we are actually doing this trip and not camping in Calais for two weeks.

Our challenge for the day was mimicking already taken photos of various signs that lay in front of us on our route. We had to find the locations of where the picture was taken and re-take the shot with our digital camera. Not so easy when the photos were very cryptic in their appearance.

Stopping for lunch in Carcassonne where we thought we would find most of the signs that we needed (there were none!) we sat down to have lunch in Carcasonne market sqaure with a local speciality of Moules et Frites. An excellent choice, I must say. And at 7euros - something we English really need to sort out in our country.

Heading into strong rain (hopefully for the last time on this trip), we took it easy as the windscreen wiper was making suspect noises, or maybe that was just Joe in the back. With Kim driving, Nathan navigating, it was Joe that was the camera man and getting very wet (ironic as he was the only one without a rain coat!) each time he had to run out and take a photo.

Our first taste of the moutains arrived with Kim at the wheel, and Joe navigating the way ahead on Autoroute and the GPS tracker. (Sorry guys, the tracker on the website is still down - we hadn't realised that so many people were using it to track all the teams - we will continue to try and sort it out!). This part of the journey has been absolutely spectacular, a visual treat. Apart from the bit at the top where we needed our fog lights and visability was about 10m.

Heading down into Andorra, the sun returned, and getting thoroughly lost in Andorra la Vella, we drove around and around, oh and around again trying to fathom the hectic 1-way systems. Eventually arrivng at Hotel Salvia we got the car into the garage, and decided to go tax-free shopping. Kim, looking out for the nearest Zara, Nathan, the nearest Mexx and Joe the nearest Pub (says a lot really), all managing to find something in the end.

The evenining was spend mostly in the the Art Hotel where the event organisers were staying. We handed in our 11 out of 16 photos found, and realised that we were joint 1st on this task. To the local Pizzeria then, to celebrate.

The banter flowed well, as did the beer (did I mention it was tax free?!)

End of day 2.

No. of push starts: 0
No. of Kim's tracks dissed: 12
No. of car components Kim broke: 1 (glove box)
No. of rivals broken down: not sure, but amusingly the organisers' Audi did!
Road kill total: 0
No. of times lost in Andorra la Vella: 3

Andorra La Vella - Murcia - ~500 miles

After our night in the tent, we felt suitably rested having had a jolly good nights sleep. After a suspect cold breakfast, and making sure that we left all the packaging off our tax free goods in the room, we gave plenty of time for us to get to the morning's meeting point in the centre Andorra La Vella.

With seamless blue skies above, we descended on a sunken coach park nestling between the high rise buildings. As we entered the car park, nearly taking off the front splitter in doing so (Nath ate all the pies last night) we were greeted to cheers.
Attracting a fair bit of local attention, with various sirens, horns and random music being played from some of the more vocal motors. Poor Andorra La Vella.

As the Germans entered the car park in their Opel Corsa, like true patriots bagging their spot by locating their towel on the sun lounger, drove straight to the exit and parked in front so they could be the first off. Schweins.

The car park now starting to fill up, and the German's having to move their car because a coach was going to flatten their Corsa on the way out - wah, a mardy midget in a tow truck (odd combination that) accosted the organiser Justin, to ask what the funk was going on. Suddenly we were ready for the off, and the whole of Andorra knew it.

We were handed our task, and set off trying not to get lost (again). The task today was to play number plate scrabble. Photograph 30 number plates and use the letters on the provided scrabble board, team with the most triple word scores etc and the most points wins.

Bit of an arse really, as Andorrian number plates only have 1 letter. It was game on, someone in the Roughrunnings team came up with the idea to sit outside the border snapping all our competitors with English plates and therefore 4 letters. Arriving at the border, Kim hanging out the back (again) made the fatal mistake of trying to take pictures inside customs. Ooops. Big burly chap with guns and t'ings promptly said Nola Fotola (or something like that) and made Kim show his entire collection of numberplates just to make sure that there were no customs shots on the camera. (What a geek he must have thought!)

Emerging from customs and into Spain, we pulled up and waited. Along came the hearse, 'snap', the Gerbil 'snap' the Big Italian Jobbies, 'snap'. More vowels, we need more vowels! Our sister team, cool runnings - ha ha! - 'snap'

AFter 20 minutes we had a Voderman selection of letters we needed. As we still had 500 miles to complete, we thought it wise to actually start driving.

For the first time, it was time to have all the windows down. Nath driving, we started to smell a pungent smell of fuel, couple to that Nathan's ears pricking up (thank goodness it was his ears) as he hears a offside whine from the rear wheel.

We pull over on a mountain pass with spectacular views, and Nath gets his overalls on and the rear wheel comes off, brake off, other bolts that Kim and Joe, really wouldn't have touched. Nath gives the all clear and we put it down to a whining diff. The petrol smell was remedied with some extra gasket goo around the fuel sender.
We were very impressed with the camaraderie with no less than 6 teams stopping to see if we were ok.

Next to jump in the driving seat is Kim, we thought we'd let Joe get over his hangover! Back on to flat land and the Autovia, we make good progress.

THWACK!, SPLOSH! BAM! (This time not another MC Hammer track forced upon the team by Kim) We hit a small sparrow. Our first road kill. Interesting remnants of bird adorn the windscreen, and Kim's road kill virginity is lost.

At the next services, we stop and take a look at the front of the car. Kim's done it! He's broken something on the car again. The bird having broken a grill slat. Get in!

Eating at the services is actually genuinely pleasurable. The food is good, with a wide selection, it is fresh, and this generally makes three lads on tour very happy chappies.

The framed images in each window are constantly changing, and as we pass through the outskirts of Valencia, the landscape is already looking Arabic. Dusty and bone dry. We feel like we are really far from home. Laura - can you check that I didn't leave the oven on - ta.

Joe in the back is listing the letters we can use, and drinking copious amounts of water to quench his hangover.

7pm and we arrive in Murcia, Joe now at the wheel and he thought the traffic in Andorra was bad! Reminding me never to bring the S2000 here. With no accommodation booked we partner up with our sister team, Cool Runnings, to find somewhere to stay. We discover Hotel Campanile with free wireless! Happy days, we can upload some photos for you.

We settle down to dinner and sort out our scrabble board. Tomorrow is a long stint and one where this blog may suddenly end. We will hit Morocco and Tangier. If we make it through border control, and don't get financially fleeced by random guides, I maybe able to write further about our adventures.

Have us in your prayers tonight.

End of day 3.

No. of push starts: 0
No. of time we grounded the Merc: 3
No. of car components Kim broke: 1 (front grill)
No. of gallons of water consumed by Joe: Far more than the Merc running at 100c
No. of near misses in Murcia: Plenty to forget about!
Road kill total: 1
No. of military planning sessions inaugurated by Nath: 5
No. of scrabble points scored: 343 depending on rule enquiry as to whether we can have two triple word scores in one word

Murcia - Tanger, Morocco ~450 miles

Day four starts with Nath waking up and switching on the television and seeing images of Arabs fighting at fuel stations over Fuel. The hard-to-decipher Spanish report worried us a little as we were just about to cross over to the closest Arab nation to Spain.... No worries - we will move the crow bar from the boot to the front seat.

We skipped breakfast as we needed to get on the road pretty quickly to the meeting point - a McDonalds car park.. ummmm nice. After pissing a few Spanish off en route with our eclectic driving we met the rest of the road revelers, but didn't stop to socialize as we had a ferry to catch.

On to the Autostrada, and cruising at a steady indicated 85-90mph (we reckon there is about +10mph on the ol' speedo) we travel with grace and air in our 190e. Water temp steady at 85, fuel consumption, hmmm, well not as bad as the V8 Ambulance doing 6mpg and the team already having spent 1600euros on fuel. They plan to add a paddling pool and sand when they hit Africa.

With us ripping up the asphalt, a white spec appears in the rearview mirror, getting larger with every km covered. It is moving at a fair old rate and as it passes guns come out of the window .........it's the Germans! The white Scirocco with chavved white rear lights aims and fires water at us travelling at 80mph. Brilliant free screen wash! They overtake and point their guns through their sun roof and bam - we're hit again. A huge spray clears all the local deceased insects from the screen. The banter has been immense. We tie up with them down most of the Autostrada.

Passing through Granada (the place not one of our competitors), we have the pleasure of watching an airabatical display with the Spanish equivalant of the Red Arrows practising above us.

Hmmm, the diff whine that started yesterday is getting louder on over-run, but we're just going to turn up Mr. Hammer. We can't touch that anyway.

Hitting our first traffic jam, just before Algeciras, the indicated water temperature rises to 110c, and we play safe and switch off the engine. We knew it was an accident due to Ambulances and Police flying by on the hard shoulder. We just hope it doesn't involve someone on C2C. After half an hour we get by, and all is well, and no one on our rally was involved.

The roads are so bumpy here that Joe makes the quote of the day: "Someone should buy Spain a spirit level"..... yes indeed.

Arriving 10 minutes before our ferry was due to leave, we catch up with some competitors and ask them what the caper is. "Go to that booth over there, then speak to the man at the desk there, run round the block three times, buy the ticket man a beer, you must beat the stewardess over there at Monopoly twice, and then they will give you your ticket. Nice.

As we ran around completing all our tasks, we hoped that we could catch our ferry, and we did..... just. Ironically the seacat that we used to cross over to a third world country was nicer than the cross channel one we'd used 4 days ago. We sit on the ferry and wax lyrical about the adventure so far, when Joe brings us down to earth with a bump and we consider our plan of action at the Moroccan border. The C2C organisers have built this up as (to paraphrase): have plenty of cash and keep the doors locked.

We have been told that we will get acosted by guides and "helpers" Don't let anyone get into your car, don't let them park your car, don't accept help unless you are willing to pay for it. Put all valuables (anatomy included) in the boot and stay in groups. Have plenty of Euros to change into Dirhams when you get there. Split up cash into small amounts between you.

We get back into the car as the ferry docks, and silence reigns through the car as we head into the unknown.... What's this? Has there been a navigational error? We arrive not in Africa but in Spain. Odd... Did we just perform a nautical U-turn??

Heading through Spain, with a few locals here and there bouncing of the bonnet - they are really keen to chat with us - chuh yeah right, more like to give us a good financial shafting, after 15 minutes, we arrive at a chaotic border.

Multiple lanes leading up to a typical covered border control lay in front of us and we gingerly drive up and park on the side of one lane. Immediately we are bombarded with ghetto folk trying to help us. We haven't felt need to use the crow bar yet, so all is good. We head up to the booths, and find a guide that will take 20euros to help us. He seems to be running all the ghetto folk, and therefore I guess could be classed as da Ghetto Chief. He says "If any of my men ask you money, you don't - give me money - I make sure Mustafa and friends are looked after" - yeah woteva!

We fill out forms for ouselves, forms for the car and forms for the insurance, all obtained from different booths. The car remains locked, and it's hot - really hot, we install our newly found sunroof mechanism. An exotic piece of wood shoved in the tilt mode. (No one dares push the sunroof button, during the rebuild, plenty of top notch German Plastik was removed and the Haynes manual suggested: "don't even go there")

After an hour of negotiating, we cross the border. Not as bad as we thought. I guess we were lucky.

AFRICA! Birthplace of man. 3 chumps in a Merc, and the Benz starts to get some serious lovin'. Kids point and shout, thumbs up. Everyone looks. You see the Merc 190e here is a legend in its own right. The Arabs love bling. A lowered, bad ass body kitted 190e with h'attitude is going down a treat. Shame we don't have many LEDs.

The roads are pap. They are so bad, we ground out on a number of occasions, and Nath is in the front! Bizzare. Arabs lovin' the sparks as we go.

It is interesting to note how you can buy a £100 car in England, bring it to Morocco and realise you have the best car in da hood. No diggity no doubt. I wish we had put a gold three-pointed star on the front now.

Such random cars on the road, an absolutely battered Peugeot 504 with the entire contents of a medium sized semi-detached house on the roof running at 80kph on the bump-stops, with not a panel with out a dent. Then you look inside and realise half the popultaion of Africa is lined up on the bench seat in the back. Crazy. Taxis take "Economies of Scale" to the limit, by ramming as many women and children in the front seat with Abduhl, Mustafa and his five cousins in the back and another baby on the parcel shelf.

Half an hour in, and we leave Ceuta and hit the "Autoroute" - please note that this word is used with a pinch of salt. Marked on the map as the motorway we endure a speed limit of 80kph, on road surfaces that would befit an off-road course designed by Landrover to test their latest Defender. We experience our first encounter with the Moroccan police.

With Nathan at the wheel. The Moroc-lice come over to the car. Shake our hands and politely say good afternoon. They ask us if we are Moroccan - er - no. "You know the speed limit?" - "Yes 80kph, but we were doing 80kph" replies Nath. "You know how much you would have to pay?", "No", "400dirhams" "ok - be careful, go on" Phew.

Continuing on the Autoroute, we head up into the mountains again, with trucks overtaking in front, 3 abreast, on a hill, one doing 30mph, the next doing 31mph and the next 33. Countless near misses, and a real free for all.

Scraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaape. The road falls away below the wheels, and we litterally slide the car on the chassis and exhaust on a mound in the middle of the road. Team Roughrunnings experience a simultaenious wince/buttock clenching moment.

Arriving finally in Tanger after having left a Hansel and Gretal trail of authentic Mercedes auto parts on a paticular rough stretch of motorway, we endure further heart in throat moments. The drivers in Tanger make the Italians seem like the best drivers in the world. Advice to y'all: Fly here.

We don't know where our InterContinental Hotel (Lead sponsors of the Aston Martin winning Le Mans team), (Where's our free room?) is. Nath at the wheel, and proving he is a really skilled tactical driver, aims for Centre-Ville and we approach a round-a-bout the size of Necker Island, with about 12 lanes. You thought the Arc-de-Triomphe round-a-bout in Paris was bad. No rules, no give way, just launch yourself into it, and cross any body part available. Watch the olive skinned minor selling fake Breitlings, mind the cyclist with his five cousins, daughter and mistress on the back - oh and big hole where they are "thinking about" repairing the road.

The InterContinental signs point us to our Oasis of normality. We arrive, and feel very proud of our accomplishment.

It's game on for a swim in the outdoor pool. We have a beer and hand in our challenge which was something Mathmatic to do with numberplates that Joe achieved with eyes shut while driving - don't ask me I am a mathematical idiot.

For the first time today, we want to know what time it is. In Spain it is 8.20pm, in Tanger it is 6.20pm - Grenwich mean-time. Excellant more time for local beer.

I ask concierge where we can go for traditional Arabic food, and Shisha. He rings up a restaurant and taxi. We headed into the centre of town. Abduhl rocks up in a Merc 250d. We chat about typical in-taxi topics, J-Lo's assets, prostitutes, the clubs, and dancers in Tanger, and how he has the pick of the bunch. He boasts of his 5 cylinders, and with 250k on the clock comments "It's not a lot is it?" We literally plough through people in the hustle and bustle of the old town. The atmosphere is thick, and we have inhaled a life's time worth of Carbon since arrivng. Abduhl offers to pick us when we want and will act as our Chauffeur for the night.

Our restaurant is quiet with traditional Arabic sofas, and Nath and I take the lamb, with Joe eating Chickan. Chickan! Joe eating Chickan - what the holy mother of Mustafa? Shiesh Kebab!

We decide after the meal to try walking around the old market town, it goes quite well, An Arabian guy starts speaking English to us, attempting to become our guide. We carry on, remain polite but firm, and decline his services.

It has occured to me, that the English are very reserved and feel very threatened by people coming forward and we generally are not sure how to handle the situation, it puts us out of our comfort zone.

The taxi is back at the Restaurant waiting for us. Kim asks to be taken to a Shisha bar, we head down to the beach. Entering the bar, we get some strange looks, and are seated almost outside of the bar. We are served beers and Shisha, and we relax looking out over the sea - bliss.

We have achived some "Cultural learnings for make benefit glorious team of Rough Runnings" in that it takes time to build up trust with those you do business with. On entering the bar, the hosts were very wary of us, but after we had paid, they became our best friends. A throughly enjoyable day and to sum up it all up so far in a Boratesque local dialect: "I like, niiiice!"

End of day 4

No. of push starts: 0
No. Haribo consumed: 2 packs of Gold Baren, 1 Kiddie Mix, 1 Star Mix and 2 packs of fried eggs
No. of car components Kim broke: For the first time on this trip: 0!
Road kill total: 1 Lizard (The one on the side of the road has a new flatmate)
No. of near misses: Hundreds
No. of knob jokes made by Joe & Nath: 6kjph (Knob jokes per hour)

Tanger - Casablanca, ~450 miles

The final frontier, these have been the voyages of team Roughrunnings, their continuing missiaan to seek out new life and new civilisation to boldly go where no British £100 Merc has gone before.
Our last blog entry for this thoroughly enjoyable adventure, I'm pleased to report has a very happy ending.

As we leave the InterContinental hotel, Kim tips the car park attendant a 20dirham note, to be met with a massive hug and a kiss on the cheek by a grotty little man. Urgh... We all knew Kim would get some lovin' on this trip.

We reach the Autoroute without incident which, believe you me, is a real feat. We are completely baffled by the speed limit, turning from 80 to 60 to 120 in an instant and with Gatsos all over the place plus Police 2-a-penny on the roadside. We even battled our way through a 20kph zone on the Autoroute - que? The Merc doesn't even register 20, the needle just bounces up and down as if to say "go faster"

The drive down to Casablanca is actually pretty uneventful, the motorway is a Peage now and has a very good road surface, probably better than the one in southern Spain!

All you can do is obey the speed limit (Something us Brits aren't accustomed to) and observe the pure entertainment that lays ahead. We pass a truck piled high with boxes, and as we take a second glimpse trying to believe what we are seeing: a brown robed Arab with one foot hanging in the air and one foot precariously placed on the back bumper, hanging off the boxes doing 120kph down the Autoroute. We grab a photo, and you will eventually see evidence.

The Haribo is flowin', the Petro' lowin'......

At 4pm (We are now 1 hour behind the UK) we arrive at our C2C destination and to our Hotel: The Hyatt Regency, central Casablanca. Akin to driving in Tanger, we navigate our way through the myriad of battered Taxis and dense smoke emitting trucks. As we rock up to our Hotel, in a less than befitting chariot, security check our boot, and allow us to park. After negotiating our way through the airport-style metal detector at the door, we check in and bask in our accomplishment.

Desperately trying to soak up a bit of local culture, we leave the hotel behind and head for the town and walk around taking it all in, Nathan in search of a Fez, Kim a Shisha and Joe something moister (no comment). We stop at a café for freshly squeezed Orange, Banana and Apple juice. Our thirst and vitamin deficiency is quenched. We enter a Bazaar and ask about Shishas, we are told very kindly by the member of staff (off the record) that we should head to the Medina as a) it is cheaper and b) you have more of a selection. We head towards what looks like a citidel and enter the market. Immediately being accosted by yet another guide wannabe (get over it!) we ignore and proceed to enter a shop where we learn about Fez's. The Marrakesh Fez is a deep rouge, while the standard Fez is a Tommy Cooper Red. After getting our own back on the Moroccans, and bartering down from 60dirhams to 45dirhams (4.50Euros) the deal was done. We enjoy the haggling process, Kim translating into French, Joe providing financial advice (Nath's home maybe re-possessed should he not keep up repayments to Joe) and Nath tactically saying he could get another Fez down the road for less.

The Shisha is also purchased for 150dirhams, a tenth of the price of one in England and we head back to the hotel for a swim.

After a refreshing dip in the pool at the hotel, we jump into a taxi and the scores on the door lay at Morocco 2 : England 1 as the Taxi driver fleeces us for 100 dirhams. We head for the final meeting point at the organisers' hotel on the beach.

We play live Frogger across the street, and only just reach the lilly pad on the other side, as a Swiss 550 Maranello drives past - you wot? - You must be craazzzzy!

We catch up with the other teams, and we talk about our different experiences, most of us having been pulled by the police and share our near-incident stories in the inner cities.

The time arrives, and the presentation begins. Biggest heap of rubbish goes to RUCMAC (I will explain what that means in person, as I would be shot by the Internet language Police (plus this is for charity!), they had the Ford Granada Hearse. An honorary mention went to the Allegro, for their valiant efforts, 3rd position went to the Slovenians in their Hyundai Sonata, 2nd position went to the Big Italian Jobbies in their Saab and I am honoured to report that 1st place went to TEAM 156 ROUGHRUNNINGS! Nathan made an excellent speech to the entire party, and the beer flowed again. 1st out of 72 teams - now that ain't bad.

Obtaining full points in two of the tasks, and doing very well in the others, the Mercedes Muppets triumphed, and stood as far away from the pool as possible as the event organiser Justin was picked up by a burly chap and hurled into the water.

A subsequent press release will be circulated upon our return.......

Now the thank yous:

Thanks first and foremost to MC Hammer without whom we could not have completed this endurance run

Sponsors:

Thanks to Katie at ONTIME AUTOMOTIVE
Thanks to YOKOHAMA and James for the superb AVS tyres - They have been brilliant, and we wouldn't hesitate to endorse your product
Thanks to John at NEWCARINFO.CO.UK for charity sponsorship
Thanks to Glen at FREESTONE for charity sponsorship
Thanks to Gavin
Thanks to Tony, Kate and Carolina at ENLINK for charity sponsorship
Thanks to David at SUNFUN HOLIDAYS for helping us get the car stickered up
Thanks to LAPTOPSCRAPYARD and EBS COMPUTERS for the support

Significant Others:

All at Aston Martin Lagonda Ltd. especially Adam, Tony and the technical support team for your engineering advice and knowledge. Thanks to Barbara for her PR expertise and advice.

To all those that have sponsored us and supported us.

A big thanks to Laura for her patience and support through out our preparation. From making numerous meals to putting up with our continual discussions about the trip - you have been amazing.

Thanks to our parents and family. Thanks to Mick who helped us source the car.

The total sum raised for the Warwickshire and Northamptonshire Air Ambulance will be announced when we have collected all the money. As a result of winning the very first StreetSafari C2C rally, we have won £1000.00 which will also be donated to the Air Ambulance.

End of Rally but the start of a 2000 mile return adventure...........