Monday

I'm up bright and early to I get on with some car-cleaning and rally-stickering. Breakfast at the Jabelain is not a culinary tour-de-force, with its cold scambled egg and congealing Arabic slop competing for top honours in the World's Worst Breakfast category. The fact that this establishment boasts exactly no stars is clearly no oversight.

After this uninspiring interlude, I carry on with the car while Sheila and Ian set out on a hunt for suitably-rated 12" tyres, and pick up the GPS, Sentinel and Iritrack from Rally Control. Once fitted, we proceed to Scrutineering for our 1450hrs appointment.

Oh joy. The Toyota Service Centre is heaving with locals and their (alleged) rally cars, and chaos is in full swing. They can't fill in their scrutineering forms properly, and half of their mandatory equipment is either missing or out of date. The schedule has clearly gone out of the window some hours ago, and we finally get through about 1800hrs. We escape with only a minor admonition for the absence of high-mounted stop-lights, to be corrrected before the DC.

We decide to celebrate at a nearby Indian Restaurant, a strange place spotted by Ian. Inside are many colourful murals, fake timber beams, and in interesting menu. It features many previously unheard-of culinary delights, including 'Chicken Jal Freddie', 'American Jobsi', and my personal favourite, 'Chicken Masala Amputation'. (Quite why images of 'Nightmare on Elm Street' run through my mind I am unsure.) However the meal is excellent, and almost as enjoyable as reading the menu.