I'm so tired, I have to use toothpicks to

I'm so tired, I have to use toothpicks to prop my eyelids open. It hurts a little. but at least they are keeping me awake.

And I need to keep awake while driving down this French road late at night with this woman sleeping to contentment in the passenger seat on our way to Cannes.

Why does FiFi always make me drive? Why did I come to France? I dont even like baguettes! The more I thought about it, the more I filled with rage. I pulled over the Fiat rental &

tried to get my bearings. FiFi sneered, "You lost them years ago." Seething I weighed the options: ignore her, turn the Fiat around & try again. Or FiFi could hoof it back to Paris

. I hailed a passing onion seller on his bike. "Gaston, take this lady with you to Paris, she is displeasing unto mine eyes" "Mais alors!" he said, loading Fifi onto the handlebars

atop the onion basket. It was a hot day, and as Fifi perspired, a pungent onion scent arose from the basket, making Gaston's eyes water. Consequently, he drifted from the bike lane

to Penny Lane. Gaston knew that he was in Penny Lane because there is a barber showing photographs Of every head he's had the pleasure to know

And Moral End has visited there too. The double decker bus was driven by Mr. Devonshire himself. His million miles of driving with no accident gave him a magical mystery tour of

peak district and the swinging blue bells. He ate Scones and drank till the

cows came home and demanded to be milked. He was furious, and as soon as he'd milked them all he quit his job at the dairy and begged for his old job repairing kilts with his mum.