Make Tea Not War

After nearly a month of gallivanting I have returned smelly, tired, slightly ill and with a new t-shirt bearing the phrase used as the title of this post to Heathfield Road.

We flew out of Stansted the Saturday following all the arrests, it's not everyday you get a free grope. We spent the week doing lots of activities in the French alps, particular highlight- a meal most of the way up a mountain in a tiny restaurant surrounded by goats and cooked by the French equivalent of Dirty Sanchez followed by a lift down a mountain track in the back of the pick-up truck driven by aforementioned frenchmen with added eau de vie (plum flavour.)

The night rounded off with a visit to the locals' club/bar in the village, luckily we'd all had tetanus shots before travelling.

A quick turn-around at home followed before departing in my car for France for a week with my family. I drove without killing anybody even when I was in France- did cut up a really slow English driver on the way into the ferryport on the way home, felt quite bad but managed to avoid a show-down on the boat. We didn't do much, it was a bit of a rest before sorting out the house as Dad has new job starting in DUNDEE, that's in SCOTLAND, where it's COLD and DARK and about 500 MILES FROM PORTSMOUTH. It should be really fun, lovely scenary, lots of things (like sea level traversing and outdoor climbing hint hint) but it is quite a long way.

After visiting the parental home to pot the forest of plant cuttings my mother had entrusted to me I rushed back to Cardiff as we had decided to go to Greenbelt, which had already started.

The story of Greenbelt with all it's interesting people we talked to will have to wait 'til another time as I'm going to go and eat some of the nice food I brought back from France- yes I smuggled both dairy and meat products through customs.

Fran

xx