The fifth man
The fifth man. In any Tour de France car he is welcome. So long as he pays his bills and in doing so makes our share a little less. So long as he offers to buys the first drinks at night when we reach our hotel. So long as he is grateful for our company. And grateful too for being rather useful. At times. But he is definitely not welcome when he can't find a car to go with the next day. When he leaves everyone else cramped with knees up to their chins and elbows tucked to their sides like not-so-little chickens in a coop. Not every car has a fifth man, though. Wise choice. I reckon on days