I’m in the bath. Don’t worry, there’s no threat to Franny, my MacBook who famously lost her hard drive after being propped up in the bathroom so I could wallow and watch Homeland simultaneously. I’m on the iPhone, Lucille, which is virtually indestructible. So much so I’d be tempted to name her Scarlett, after Captain Scarlett.
I’m in the bath because I’m aching. I’m aching because I’ve just walked ten miles in three hours. My feet feel harder and lumpy and my rucksack related back sweat was something to be admired. It has just dawned on me that all of my training and channeling can’t prepare me for the fact that when I do head out into the Sahara desert (in just five weeks) I won’t be able to relax and bathe whilst instagramming stupid pictures of myself. I’m going to sit in my sweat, I’m going to live in it. This is different to stinking it up at a festival. This is next level Bear Grylls shit.
An I scared? Yes of course, I’d be concerned if I wasn’t but its good to know the time and money and effort has an end result and it is drawing very close indeed.
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