I have been contemplating my trip and considering what impressed me, and what did not. I thought I may as well publish my thoughts, just in case anyone might be listening. Well here you go:

Thumbs up to:

Druids - They rock. Like attending a greenpeace meeting, mixed with religion & elderberry wine. I love them.

Nant Peris' Campsite - A rose in Europes' fluctuating standard of campsites.

French Women - Always a smile and a nod.

University Towns - The place to be if you're young and seeking something. Bangor, Bath, Rouen, Avignon, Aix-en Provence all get the nod from me.

French Cyclists - They gave me constant appreciation, and support. I even got a round of applause from a pelloton on my way towards Les Baux. It felt good. However, thats' not the first time I have received clap, whilst entering a lesbian.... ho-ho.

Italian Police - Something about that laid back attitude, and lack of interest in proletarian control.

French Wine.

Italian Pizza - by the slice, priced by the gramme I might add.

Vineyards - I just loved camping in them. Olive groves too.

French Cycle shops - Kind and supportive. Free use of pumps in case you have a puncture, and even lent me some tools! Allez!

Old English tourists - They were just real friendly and considerate. Except when they are driving their motorhomes!

Tuscany - Never seen rolling hills, and farmland like it. Camping on the grounds of dilapidated farmhouses, is something I will treasure in my big dumb head.

Pasta - I love you.

Old Italian Men - Always happy to talk to you. In Pseudo conversation. I like their gestures of "Wow, thats amazing" - Slap of the hands kinda thing.

French Drivers - Thankyou for the wide berth. All, except for the idiot who ran me over in Aix-en Provence.

And a BIG ROTTEN Thumbs down to: 

The Welshman - Who deflated my tyres for no apparent reason.

The french Police - So, its not just a stereotype.

French Landowners - You suck more than the English gentry.

French Garages - That treatment in Provence astounded me. I hope you burn in hell.

Sand Flies - Beware! Beware! when camping on beaches in the Welsh Coast.

UK Lorry drivers - Do they all have tunnel vision? Or do they just not care?

Romes' Scooter driving population - You should take note of all those roadside memorials, that I noticed.

Campsite Owners - How can you justify charging 13 euro per night to place my tent in a mosquito ridden field, then charge me more to wash my dishes, shower, and do some laundry. Cos' I can bleedin' well justify roughing it in a field for free after your games matey.

Bridge crossings on the Seine - Good God almighty! Like that scene in Indiana Jones & The Last Crusade, where he steps out into nothing and lands on a bridge. Except Indy wouldn't have the balls to do it on two wheels, with Trucks whizzing by. 

Welsh Nudists - you dirty dirty dirty.... Im all for that freedom & Liberation thing. But masturbating whilst you're your being liberal? You'd give a politician a run for their money. I have the bizzare memory of holding a conversation with a nudist, on the subject of why... Whilst he is.... I can't begin to describe. Whiskey Shiver. 

The Welsh Coast - More ups and downs than Bury Football Club. Don't get me wrong it was beautiful. Just demoralising.

Bike Locks - I hate you. I have enough trouble knowing what day it is, than to know where my keys are. I hate you too.

Welsh Mountain Instructors - Why did I have to approach YOU, to ask for my stove windshield back? Eh? Dickhead? I'd have liked to punch you in the mouth.

Italian Cyclists - They catch the train and ride back, so that they can have a tail wind. All lycra clad and carbon fibre, yet you couldn't look me in the eye and see my pain! Could you!

American tourists - ...

The Idiot who ran me over I Aix-en Provence - Fairly justified for a thumbs down to be fair.

Ligurian Coastal Villages - Such a source of beauty, yet such suffering cycling back out. St. Marguerite, for example. Enjoyed the gazes of astonishment from the locals at my insanity.

St. Tropez - Bardot et al, I hate you. Proof that being rich, doesn't mean you're clever. Or respected.  

The Price of a can of pop in France - What's that all about eh? 2 Euro for a can?

English Pub Landlords - Just because Im not drinking myself into a stupor from the moment your doors open, doesn't mean you can enforcibly ask me why I am not.

UK Airport Security - I realised this country has gone mad, when they started putting microchips on our refuse bins. You just add salt to my wounds. Whats next? Mandatory finger searches? Why can I not carry a bottle of water, yet I can keep my shoes? Which of these two items has been supposedly used as a bomb previously eh? Final straw came in Liverpool Airport after CLEANING STAFF, bollocked me for my bike.

Hey,

Originally, before the start of my trip, a friend explained to me that he was to drive a clapped out Saab 900 from the UK to Naples in Italy. He gave me a spare set of keys and we discussed the prospect of locating the vehicle after he had flown home, and I driving it back. That would have been cool. Although, I did have ideas that he would have left something unsavoury to fester in the car especially for my discovery.
Anyhow, for whatever reason the banger didn't survive the journey, and I couldn't drive back, I had to fly from Rome Ciampino airport.

The day before my flight, I picked up some cardboard boxes from a hardware store waste bin. Two boxes stored my bike perfectly, one for the wheels, and the other for the frame. I strapped the card to the back of my bike and rode 80km, with my new super-spoiler keeping the downforces ultra-strong. The image was pretty funny to both myself, and undoubtedly, passing drivers. I kept having ET like thoughts of flying home on my new plane-bike. Unfortunatley, this too did not happen.

The next morning at the check-in desk I disassembled my bike, packed it up, and then realised I had no tape to fasten the boxes. With 200 people queueing behind me in some kind of absurd, modern-day, airport security fiasco from hell, I coolly persuaded the lovely check-in girl to assist me with a roll of baggage tags. For 10 minutes, I could hear disgruntled sighs as Magdallena and I pasted my bike boxes together. Hell! I enjoyed the exercise. My fellow passengers probably did not. But I was broke, hungry, and did not care, especially after I noticed that I would arrive in Liverpool thirsty too, due to the water carrying restrictions that are now in force. If people ever suggest that art is absurd, and ridiculous, like this for example:

Dali

Or this:

Duchamp

Then I feel that Airport security is equally, if not more absurd and ridiculous than any Dada installation. I mean, I can't drink water, yet I can keep my shoes? Oh well. You know, Napoleon once said "From the sublime to the Absurd, is but a step".

My baggage at liverpool arrived ok. However, and again, for reasons absurd, My foldable coffee mug vanished? Did it post a 'tourist threat'? Yet my Swiss army knife didn't? Pfff! My Uco candle lantern was not so lucky. Man Down>>

Perhaps it was for the best. My lantern was good for a while. However, I figured that tea lights do an equally good job and are dirt cheap. So, God rest its' soul, burn brightly amongst the stars in heaven..

My Teflon cooking pots started out like the one on the left, and finished like the one on the right:

Not that I didnt know this would happen. I have non-stick innards now, but pot cleaning was easy, and I never once burned a meal.

What was most appropriate I think, was the morning after condition of my bike tyres. They simply gave up the will to live. Like conan on the tree of woe...Like the starship enterprise after a dose of Warp Speed 9... Like Devon Loch in the Grand National 10 strides from home...

Remember people, To be rich nowadays merely means to posess a large number of poor objects.