The glass must be too thick. Or maybe French péage booths are intelligent enough to detect three blokes trying to act all suave in their M&S shirts and Burton Menswear shoes and decide to take us down a peg or three. The télépéage readers aren’t working. Hazards flashing, we’re reversing out. Again. Humiliation. Stress. And on two separate occasions, a sizeable amount of angry arm-waving.
I think we’re at Dijon before I twig that if I hold the useless plastic lozenge out of the window, the booth decides I’m already making enough of an arse of myself to raise the barrier grudgingly upwards.
Images: Mark Riccioni
This feature was originally published in issue 290 of Top Gear magazine