Thirteen.

It is better. Being alone to recover a weary body. So fatigued yesterday, but had that inability to relax properly. Some tension and anxiety was in my mind. The usual questions. Why am I flogging myself like this? For which I will never have an answer. Perhaps for the hell of it? Or to prove I am not a complete waste of flesh, blood and bone?

By seven I will have crouched on the hole in the floor and then I will meander into the valley and, maybe, away from the relentless Bisse? It's definitely behind me now.

The town clock struck the quarters and the offices of the day until about eleven, but at that point I was drifting delirious into sleep. Later in the night a muscle at the back of my head decided to spasm. But I think I've had eight plus hours to recover. The Zurich guy I've left behind. His sad visage was not helping my tiredness. I'm thankful I didn't have him in the double bed and don't have the steep incline to Chaumont to deal with. Day three!