1st July 1999, 0023hrs. Thursday. St. Andeol, kitchen. Dark.
Waiting for Julia or Sharon to ring- this is the last time I’ll be able to receive calls for a while, so I’m sat here diligently filling in time while my rucksack lies on the floor, unpacked. We’re leaving for Monestier in about ten hours, to catch the train to Grenoble. Julia should be ringing at about 0030, according to her parents, but it’s 0029, and I’m not sure I can stay awake much longer!
0830 – Still no call from Sharon, although I did go to bed after Julia rang. I’m seated writing in the garden for what will be the last time, drinking coffee and sunlight. It’s going to be a glorious day in the Alps, and I’m really going to miss it. I shall have to get used to nowhere being familiar again, after the valley, the dolomites, the houses and farms and the distant head of the Eagle have barely had time to sink in. I suppose my ever-present wanderlust is somewhat sated by the fact that we are in the south of France, and what’s the point of going to somewhere different if you don’t stay there? You’d never put your bags down otherwise!
I got a letter from home yesterday, which really cheered me up and saddened me at the same time. Keith being sentimental gets me that way! Oh well- I’d better go pack – after another coffee of course. Let’s not get silly here...
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