The single worst thing about a holiday is the ridiculous time you have to get up in order to leave. At 4am last Friday my alarm rang out loud and true and I rather grumpily extracted myself from the warm fluffiness of my beautiful bed. Rachel, as ever was bright and breezy and up and showered before my feet even touched the floor. My morning took a turn for the worse when I decided to knock the pint glass of water on my bedside cabinet all over the floor. Soon enough, our taxi to Gatwick was waiting outside and as is customary for Rachel, she spent the next hour worrying that we wouldn't get to the airport on time and whether the taxi driver was going the right way! An uneventful breakfast and flight to Lyon
... read more
