A day to remember

But for me a passage has been made that has ended with a small town in Hertfordshire being replaced by Cahors in sou'-west France as "home".

It's been a long journeying but I can pinpoint one event that completed it: the day the Tour de French Republic came to town.

As an aspiring photographer, hearing that the 18th stage of the 2007 Tour would start just 10 min (by car) from my doorsill, gripped me with exhilaration.

July 27 arrived and the town was bathed in sunlight. I was given a lift in, then strode across the Pont Louis Philippe over the River Lot into the tree-lined Boulevard Gambetta.

Even with more than two hours still to go, the sense of expectancy was palpable.

I met some chap expats, complete with five kid under the age of 10, and the fun began in earnest.

We exchanged excited grins as the Caravane Publicitaire whizzed by; cars and vans dressed up as giant tyres, watches and wash powder boxes, adorned with professional dancer and sound scheme pumping out some serious decibels.

The kids started to leap up and down and wave in their effort to procure some of the dainty being thrown to the crowds (at one point tussling with a fully-grown man, who truly should have known good).

As we neared the start line, the crowds gathered in earnest. I found a perfective platform - a concrete plant pot, above the crowds and 20 meter from the start.

I was hot and uncomfortable, but I wasn't giving up my spot for anyone.

The latent hostility built as the start time drew near, then at 12.15 the riders set off - so quickly that I feared all I would manage would be a couple of blurred snapshots.

But just a few metres down the road, there was some kind of hold-up. All the riders came to a halt right in front of me. I snapped away to my heart's content.

Obstruction cleared, the riders moved on again as the delighted crowd clapped and cheered. The bikes shot down the boulevard in a vibrant blur, and were gone.

I scrambled down from my vantage point and was immediately swept along by the departing crowd with a huge grin on my face.

My lift home was in the opposite direction, but I didn't care. I had the shots I'd dreamed of, and I felt such pride as I thought to myself: "The Tour de France came to my home town, and I was there." And then I realised; Cahors had become my home town.