Dreadfully sorry, followers. I honestly don't know what happens to my days, weeks and semesters. Yes, semesters. I only have one week remaining in dear old Pau before scootering up to the bright lights of Gay Paris next saturday, to meet my beloved, squeal over the sights and get suitable sozzled over turning 22. Bleurgh. I'm not supposed to tell anyone my age at this point in life, the first sign of turning old, but sod it. I'll be at the top of the Eiffel Tower or similar. Then I'm heading back to London for the night, and to Antigua the following day. Smug, me? Yes, I almost hate myself. You're allowed.





Right, so what have I been up to? I climbed a mountain today, as you do. It was about 800 foot, and it was hard. The first hour I was so out of breath that my stomach was turning, my legs felt like jelly and there was a suspicious booming in my head. Bernard, 'le guide', was ridiculously over-enthusiastic and over-fit, and also over the idea of having any 'petite pauses' whatsoever. We pathetically scrambled up practically vertical slopes through woodland, desperately trying to keep up with him . When we escaped out of the woodland and into the fields things improved a little, mainly thanks to the wonderful views that made it all a bit more worthwhile. But everytime I thought we were at the summet, another summet appeared, and another, and another. And compared to the last hike, where we stayed at the top for an hour or two, sitting in the sun, drinking coffee and admiring the magnificent views, the actual summet was disappointing. It was small and grassy with rabbit poo everywhere. And it was flipping freezing. My cold sweat stuck to my back and turned to ice as the wind blasted it. I miserably ate my pasta, also cold and slimy. But it was all worth it for the descent. It was so much easier to admire the sublime mountainous scenery and lovely little Lord of The Rings-style valley below whilst not gasping for breath and shivering to death. The footing was slightly awkward but it only added a bit of adrenaline. So in the end, I stuck to my belief that I might as well have made the most of my last weekend in Pau. I could go out, get drunk and spend the next day hungover any time in Leeds, and although I nearly didn't manage it here, I couldn't climb a mountain in Leeds. Partly becuase there aren't any at a convenient distance, and partly because I wouldn't have the guts that I do here.