Iris

In almost no time, it’s dawn. I stare blearily up through the hole in the top of the yurt. Squinting, it could be a giant, gaping iris. Beyond it, the black fades as the sky passes through various shades of grey, heading for bright blue.

Keith takes me down to Joyeuse. We’re both feeling a little rough, so we sit in the shade as the heat builds, sipping a coffee, waiting for the bus.

The 74 winds through Ardèche, dropping me two hours later at Montelimar station. I sit in the park for an hour before catching the train to Lyon.

It’s lunchtime. I eat a salad and buy some gifts from Biocoop - wine, mustard, olives. Then a TGV to Lille, followed by Eurostar to London, and finally underground to Great Portland Street. It’s not raining. It’s not even cold. Yet.