Dear Diary

I am very tired this evening. I have been carrying heavy things to Sunderland and back and playing the drums between journeys. My back is sore and so are my feet. It has left me not feeling very imaginative so I will tell you a real story with no real purpose or direction. More of a memory than a story. Or just a rough collection of words.

I went to France a few years ago with a frend from uni. We took backpacks and bummed a lift from my parents who were going on holiday somewhere in Britany. They dropped us off at the nearest campsite to the ferry port and we set off with the plan to at least reach Paris.

It wasn't the best planned journey ever and we didn't really get very far. We spent most of the trip in Rennes and holed up in a campsite there. We met a nice french girl who we played cards with and had some drinks. I fancied her a bit and to this day still think it'd be nice to meet her again. Can't remember her name.

Other highlights included getting lost and having no-where to stay in Le Mans until a stranger in a bakery overheard me asking for directions and offered us a lift to his friend's campsite. His friend turned out to be from Manchester so a long day had an easy ending. However, the next morning my friend put her shoes on and discovered (too late) that a slug had taken residence in one of them overnight.

The wierdest experience was in Versailles. When we arrived, I had learned my lesson from Le Mans and checked ahead to figure out where we could camp. The fates had also planned ahead though and made sure all the campsites were full. We had no where to stay at all! Whilst milling around outside one of the sites to see if anyone would leaver over the course of the day, we got chatting to some Italians. They planned to camp in the adjacent public park. We joined them. We spent the night in a tent, in the middle of a children's playground. Leaving the tent in the morning was a little disorientating.

We made it to Paris. I got excited about a bridge, but taking the backpacks was a mistake. It became a very militant visit, marching across the city from landmark to landmark to make sure we saw everything. The highlight of Paris was a shop we found that seemed to sell stuffed badgers in wigs. I have a photo somewhere.

This is all I can remember. I may add some fictional drama (other than me being grumpy occasionally) to give the story a.... well a story.

The End!