And lettuce. And tomatos. Or tried, but unforeseen event involving an umbrella, some toilet paper and a dog changed all that, but I wont go into that. All I really wanted to say is that I made it to and from London. By train.
I’m sorry I left you like that, but I overheard your conversation. But you knew I have to go. If you are wondering, I keep my hiking gear at the back of my closet, in my room, including my boots. I ditched the house before midnight and walked down the railroad most of the night.
Yes, my loyal followers (especially you, Ashley). I promised I’d make blog for myself and I’m positine that you’ll google it in no time. It’s not like the web is crowded with misocynist Fluffies.
So, an update. I’m writing this in Dieppe. I ate at a charming place called biking seagull with Charlotte and Charlene, twins from Leeds, who are writing a road novel for something called NaNoWriMo, and their stories intermingle. I need to check that out. Somehow they decided to add a fugitive on the run to the story. They are staying over at theirs friends and invited me to join. Good, because I didn’t sleep too much in the train and I wasn’t really looking for a night in tent, not at this time of the year.
I’ll have to keep moving. I dear not to think what Renie told me, but I don’t know how much I have time. Could be months. Could be hours. But I DO not want to go down again. And Berlin is still far and away.
Good night, my friends. Don’t try to follow me. I’ll drop you a line from Rouen. Or Paris at latest.