Now I lost my Saint Christopher now that I’ve kissed her

Now I lost my Saint Christopher now that I’ve kissed her

It’s been over a week since my last confession, and I’ve been so busy that I can’t remember most of it, which will no doubt come as a great relief to some of you. It’s been mainly filled with work and *gasp* some thunderstorms and rain.

We did have visitors last weekend. The lovely Jeannie and Gareth came over for a flying visit and we hauled them up hills – particularly, to the top of Ranfoilly where I never get bored of seeing the reaction of somebody seeing Mont Blanc appear in  their sightline for the first time. They hit the weather jackpot for the hike that I miss the most when I’m not here.

It wasn’t all healthy wholesomeness – a not insignificant amount of cheese was consumed at La Fruitière des Perrières and my arteries are still in a state of stasis. Nick and Gareth bravely sampled their legendary unidentifiable-liquor-with-snake. Jeannie and I did not. There was eventually going to be a moment for circumspection in my life, and I believe that was it.

It was a heartwarming weekend, full of laughter, friendship, wine, and the seeds of plans sown. Just how I like it.

We’ve just over a week left in France and much as I’m looking forward to heading to Chamonix on Sunday, my thoughts are starting to turn towards home. It’s been 7 weeks since I left Cardiff and there are people I miss and can’t wait to see. My heart aches a little at the thought of leaving my beloved Les Gets in two days’ time though, especially as there are people here that I’ll miss too.

Last night was one of those random ones that was meant to be a quiet dinner out. Our mistake was starting the evening with a visit to our friend Madame, who has progressed from polite welcome drinks to getting us spangled, via many kisses over the past 5 weeks. We left overly refreshed, instructed in the correctly nuanced use of the word Putain and only fit to stagger to Le Tyrol, order pizza and fill ourselves with as many carbs as we could lay our hands on. Alas, it was their night to press fee limoncello on us, and by that time I had zero resistance.

I’ve felt like the wrath of god all day today and I’m never drinking again. Clearly I need new friends here, too. The sunlit uplands of the UK seem tantalisingly safe right now, where nobody gives me free drinks and there’s marginally less risk of being robustly kissed in bars. Delusion is alive and well Aux Gets, it seems.

There aren’t many benefits to not being able to run, but I’m significantly cleaner these days, for sure. Gone are the days where I’m regularly covered in mud, grime and dust and my hair is coated in unidentifiable gunk that should probably be left unexamined. Nonetheless, I’m counting the days until I’m justifiably filthy again.

This is probably my last broadcast from Les Gets. Tomorrow I intend to head up for one last gaze across from Le Ranfoilly, whatever the weather. Mind you, if it keeps on raining like it has done all day today, I may have no option but to keep on writing until you beg for mercy.