One of my highlights of PBP was on one of the flat bits in that last stage. I had the scent of Paris in my nostrils by that point and decided to go into tucked time trial position and peg it. A car then approached and slowed down to match my speed. The driver then wound down his window ready to say something. My Brit cycling intuition was to brace myself for some abuse or a happy slap, but the driver just wedged his knees under his steering wheel and started clapping.
Unfortunately, even Cheshunt wont be smellable from Sandtoft