Outside, there came a squeal of tires (tyres, on the English side) and a horrible, rending, crash and scream of tortured metal on asphalt (macadam on the English side).

A man in a ragged, torn jacket and pants staggered in, screaming, "Run for your lives! My paint truck (paint lorry on the English side) just crashed and split open! There's a wave of reddish-purple paint flooding this way!" And he ran out the other door.

Those near the windows looked out and saw it: a tidal wave, a veritable tsunami, of reddish-purple paint bearing down on the Tavern.

"Oh, look!" said Noreen. "The wave of the fuschia!"