Brilliant JP!!! LOL!!!  

Throaty was a very strange chap. We encountered him in Dieppe. We had rented 2 motorhomes and there were about 10 of us. We'd had a great Le Mans, we were all knacked and we had for the most part 'done our wedges'. We were all sunburned, grubby, hung-over. On the 'Le Mans Rollercoaster', we were slowly rumbling back into the station. I'll explain the concept of the rollercoaster another time, but I'm sure you get my jist.
Worst of all, we'd missed our ferry - there wasn't another one until the next morning, it was dark and dreary - and on Sunday night, everything in France is closed.
Dave H, Ricardo and myself were sent forth into the town, in search of 'refreshments'. We needed to ask a local where we could find an offy or bar that would supply some carry-out. We spotted Throaty shambling along the sea-front. He was a little dishevelled - but not in the same league as Zarse's snotmeister. He seemed very interested in our clumsy requests for directions to purveyors of liquor - on reflection, I suspect he thought we were inviting him along. Our questions were answered with much gesticulating and facial contortion, but no dialogue, French or otherwise. It got to the point were maps were being drawn in the condensation on car windscreens, but still not a single word was uttered by our new-found vagrant friend, despite our ever more urgent pleas for assistance in aquiring more booze. I was losing the will to live by this point and decided it was time to take matters in hand. I confronted this chap and tacitly demanded that he tell us where we needed to go. He made a smoking gesture (two fingers up to his mouth - at least, I think it was a smoking gesture) so I gave him one of my biffo's. At this point, he rolled down the collar of his polo necked jumper and deftly removed the gauze pad that was covering the gastly ragged and very recent looking tacheotomy hole in the front of his neck. It was an unseasonably chilly evening and his breath created a vapour in the air, as it rattled out of this hideous gaping orifice. I very nearly passed-out, Dave's "Ohforfuckssake" and Richard's "Mmmmotherfucker!" galvanised me and I regained my composure, only for Throaty to snatch it away again by covering his tracheotomy with the heel of his palm, lighting the Marly I'd just given him and blowing the smoke out of his neck hole. That finished it for me.
Poor bugger. He obviously was lonely and hopeful that we would be his hosts for the rest of the evening. We had considerable difficulty in shaking him off. It was about that time that I figured that maybe I should quit smoking.    

Matt

What a wonderful "only at LM" story!!

But maybe Throaty was not French? By coincidence I think you guys may have bumped into one of our crew.

Everyone looks like a tramp after Le Mnas, particularly Chris, otherwise known as Stilton. Our man Chris usually manages to smoke 10 packs of fags a day at Le Mnsa. He even smokes in his sleep. His morning coughing fit is really something to behold, he goes perfectly purple in the face and the awful internal rattling noise sounds like breakfast time on a geriatric ward.

One year his throat decided it had had enough with all the various poisons being poured down it and constricted itself shut; he was unable to continue smoking. In an act of desparation and self mutilation, he did a DIY tracheotomy in the shaving mirror of the commer, using only his pen knife and a Bic biro as the valve, which handily, is the same diameter as a filter tip.

If Throaty also had a very muscly right arm and thick glasses (his other vice), then it was almost certainly Chris.

Anyway that's what I think.

One year, late eighties, one of our crew who shall remain nameless, Micky I think it was, sparked up a great bit of repartee with an LM local, he may have been called Francois.
To be fair, I think Francois was a ham sandwich (as well as a thermos, yoghurt, scotch egg, hamper and all the cutlery) short of a picnic, but he was very smartly turned out, and this gave him an uncertain air of respectability. He had the best set of facial tics I've ever seen, within the space of a few seconds his eyebrows would be flying all over his forehead, each eye would bulge alternately and he'd sort of cluck his tongue while the corners of his mouth did a little dance. All would go quite for a minute, and you'd just begin to think that you'd imagined it, then he'd be off again.
Micky, a seasoned loony spotter, was over like a shot as soon as he came into view, this is mid monday morning on the main road opposite the station. Mick speaks no French at all, but soon struck up a lively conversation with Francois. To be honest it wasn't clear to anyone watching and listening just exactly what language Francois had mastered, perhaps it was one of those dying languages we're always reading about. Micky seemed to be taking it all in his stride and pretty soon had dropped his trousers, and convinced Francois that he should do the same. The two of them then bunny hopped through the shoppers and up the road, towards the tobacconists I think. You guessed it, after then 'We Had Trouble Shaking Him Off'.
Micky was great value that year, he had a marvellous talent for juggling his bollocks, like Francois' eyebrows you just didn't know where they would pop up next. I tell you, he had a crowd of Germans mesmerised in a bar near Tertre Rouge. Think of an act that crosses the rabbit/top hat trick with the disappearing walnuts under upturned beakers trick and you're sort of on the right track. I'm sure he produced one out of his breast pocket at one stage. Maybe simultaneously he had a bollock on each side of his head rolling slowly forward over each ear. It sounds impossible I know, but surprise was amongst his weaponry, and who knows what we saw.
Something strange happens when we cross that water. Do you think P&O put something in the drinks?
H

"Christ, look at the queue for the showers!  Sod it, I'll have a wash tomorrow"

"Christ, look at the queue for the bogs!  Sod it, I'll use a bucket"

(in Carrefour) "Do we really need all that beer?"  "Bloody right, we're at Le Mans"

(to some mad arse handbrake turning his TVR in Houx Annexe on the dirt roads)  "Oi, you nearly ran into my tent" (reply from toff driving)  "This is Le Mans you know!"

"Oh bollocks! This is the worst case of nappy rash I've ever had"..........Some time after taking a very large, and urgent dump, forgetting the bog paper, having to run back outside to get some, only just getting back in before some other barsteward nicked the only trap, and failing to get rid of all the clingons.

It bloody hurt

H Top top story!!

One of our guys, big Paul, does the world's best Jack Douglas impression. For those of you unaware of the seminal work of Douglas, he was the big thick dopey one with glasses in the Carry On films, who used to "twitch" a lot. For example, he'd be in a pub talking to Syd James quite normally, then quickly look over each shoulder, shout "Shubbaddy Fwaaay!!", tip his own pint of beer on his head, pull a facial tic, say Hahhhzoooma! and finally carry on as if nothing has happened. Classic genius comedy.

Anyway Paul is very good at it and all quite out of the blue he often twitches and makes strange squawking, quacking, farting, cuckooing and popping noises, when in the queue for the bar, talking to a shop assistant etc. and is totally deadpan about it. If you are a fan of slapstick, it's fu cking priceless.

We used to work together years ago and how we got through company meetings without getting sacked for childish behaviour and giggling I will never know.