There is some debate amongst aficionados of things to dunk in your tea as to whether or not the Nice biscuit has anything to do with the city of the same name. I won't bore you with the details here and, to be honest, who cares? However, the city of Nice was our destination today. After a previous trip here with Tony and Neil which resulted in us being mugged, we were of course keen to hang on to our valuables on this occasion. A lengthy 310 miles from Barcelona meant that it was a 'whiz up the motorway' day and after the usual late start due to the previous evening's over-indulgence we burned up the Autopista in no time, minus Reidy who had decided yet again to bugger off solo so he could find his inner self which is obviously hidden on some obscure B road in the south of France.
Our evening took us to Wayne's Bar which, though the eponymous 'Wayne' was nowhere to be seen, is a lively place and we felt obliged to join the other patrons in dancing on the tables to the excellent band who were on. Again, more video evidence exists as a permanent reminder as to why grown men shouldn't (and can't) dance, even on tables with their heads nutting the ceiling. A staggering bar tab of 250 euros would lead to some monumental hangovers come Monday morning.
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