It happened last night as we were approaching dinnertime. I'd felt the odd twinge throughout the day but nothing serious. Come 6pm last night matters took a turn for the worse though as I was overcome with a massive pain which caused me to collapse doubled up in agony. Fortunately we were at the hotel when this happened and so I could stumble to the bedroom and crash. Never had pain like on the stomach front. Felt I was gifted a small insight into veil of tears that comes with childbirth. Lisette was my saviour of the moment, heading out to acquire a multitude of pills from the local pharmacy which were quaffed with much urgency. Following 12 hours of bed-rest I'm pleased to report that I'm feeling much more normal. Nevertheless, there have been changes on the gastronomic front prompted by this. No more with le steak frite and creme brulèe. No more with the mounds of cheese and butter. No more l'escargot (though it was only Lisette and Una who were brave enough to dabble in this). Instead we have switched to what I suppose we best call the "Patisserie-diet". Important to have a system. We'll consume anything that can be obtained in a patisserie. Generally this means a croissant or a cafè au lait (or tasse de thé if you're Lisette). Granted this is not a massive step up in terms of how good the food is for us (pastries alas not yet counting towards your 5-a-day). However, in terms of food volumes I'd say we're coming on in leaps and bounds.

After nearly a week of eating French cuisine I am presented with a mystery and it is this: how are the French not yet extinct? Each meal appears to consist of a *minimum* of 3 courses. Each course contains enough calories, cholesterol and fat to give an elephant pause for thought. So how are these people still functioning let alone skinny? I have some vague notion that the French send themselves away to foreign countries every now and then where they find the cuisine so repulsive they abstain entirely from eating while their bodies return to healthier levels. A "detox trip" if you will; this may explain South Kensington. We see Lisette's (French) mum and (English) dad next week in Spain and so I intend to consult Annie on the matter. Perhaps that's what led her to make for Geordieland in the first place...

Dear all, Am typing this on the strangest keyboard I have ever encountered. It appears to be the standard French keyboard which for no reason that I can comprehend does not tally with any other computer keyboard on the face of the planet. Can't think why they made it like this other than to slow the non-French down. It's definitely working. Struggling to find the letters and have given up on punctuation. So if this reads a bit odd I apologise - it's this or insanity. Lisette and I arrived in Paris on Friday night and met up with our good friend Una who had just flown in from Belfast. It didnt start off as the most French of experiences. Due to the trains not running - maybe a strike - we had to catch a taxi into town. We ended up being driven by a man in gleaming white robes, strange hat and listening to "Africa 1" Radio which is about as local as it sounds. Una, Lisette and I had decided to venture into unknown waters on our weekend in Paris and were staying on a barge moored next to the Eiffel Tower. The barge was owned and normally lived in by a Parisien lady who lets it out on the occasional weekend to raise some spare cash. Its quite strange staying in what is clearly someone elses home. Particularly when the home in question is rammed to bursting with pictures of famous maharajas and, strangely, naked Indian ladies. Still we didnt dwell on the matter and ventured out onto the Seine in the early hours of Saturday morning in search of a drink. Our first port of call was a jolly looking nightclub facing onto the Seine. Not to be though, as we uttered "Bon Soir!" to the bouncer we were looked slowly up and down before he pronounced very definitely the phrase "Private party" and waved us off into the middle distance. Perhaps we should have got changed before venturing out. Una was outraged at this and could be seen mouthing the words "private party" to herself at numerous points over the weekend. It had clearly deeply affected her as she encouraged us to made a second attempt to gain entry on the Saturday night. Only bottling out at the last minute when it became clear that the same bouncer was in place and so our odds were at best unfavourable.

... Dalek. Hi all, Many things I am capable of but, as I discover, many things are unwise. Lisette and I were woken at the princely time of 1:50 am and tumbled out of bed, into clothes and into the blackness outside. The plan, such as it was, was to climb Adam's Peak which is either the fourth or fifth highest mountain in Sri Lanka (Asanga and the Lonely Planet are still arguing the toss on this point). The plan was to reach the summit and watch dawn break from the top. Also, Adam's Peak famously casts a shadow the shape of a roughly equilateral triangle just after dawn breaks which we were also hoping to see. Climbing a mountain in the dark is less fun than you might imagine. There's a lot of stumbling, wheezing and general bitter self-recrimination as to why you ever agreed to doing this in the first place. There's also a fairly worrying amount of losing the people you're travelling with as well. In the event we did finally make the ascent, reaching the Summit at roughly 6 am. It was a pretty impressive sight. However, for some reason I appear to be wired to be underwhelmed though. As Lisette bounced around like Tigger, delighted in the vistas abounding my own eyes were cast down gazing at the vast tract of pathway we had traversed and pondering the joys of doing the self-same trip in reverse. Oh exquisite agony here I come.

...no - as it turns out I'm *all* woman... (thanks to the good Professor) Hi all, First up, thanks for your emails - apologies for not responding in kind but I've just recently (within the last half hour) been re-introduced to the world of "pre-broadband". Internet connection in Kandy is pretty much approximate to to internet connection in England in the early 90's. Maybe slower. And so each keystroke has alas become rationed for today.