Day four is over: at last a day off!

In the pitch black night I stumbled around, unable to find the door in to the bathroom, in desperation I ended up urinating onto the floor. Never ever done that before and I don't know why I didn't switch on the bedside light? I think I was sleep walking. Even when I'm a sleep it seems I want to walk.

There is a stiff breeze blowing outside and the weather is moving more autumnal for sure. At least until Monday. Yesterday I paid for the night's rest and asked for PdJ at seven but the host was a little reticent to be up at that time? But I like away by sunrise to get the best of the day so I twisted his arm behind his back.

***

Fantastic breakfast! Too much really. A full complement of Confiture, honey, yogurt, coffee, orange juice, croissant, baguette, butter and I ate what I could. Host reminds me the weather won't be good today. Proofed my boots and seen the direction of travel to the next village. I will reach Carcassonne today regardless of the weather with a belly filled up.

***

This was a difficult day. Covering two stages in one day, because I didn't realize yesterday was Friday. From Monday I need to know which way to go for two weeks and I think I can plan this on Sunday. And rain plus intense humidity all the way. Found a place to hide out of the heaving buckets half way to Carcassonne. It was a bar, but was next door to the shop, so I had a filling picnic and watched the rain bounce for an hour plus.

***

Three hours asleep, my body was asking for more, but I can't be up in the Citadel for food while it's crowded with day tourists. On every corner someone is dressed in faux medieval attire. Souvenirs everywhere, ice cream everywhere and locals nowhere. I'm in a rather naff Auberge du Jeunesse, but my body didn't care!

***

Why am I in an Irish bar? Probably because it sells beer, but also because the other bar was full of very loud wine drinkers. Yet it's very loud in here with a pissed French woman whose daughter is throwing darts at a very low point. I'm tired I know ... I'll stop hearing Brits talking Brexit soon. They know it all as the lass pissing her pants claps in the name of love, and her daughter looks to chuck the dart at my tired bonce. Très fatiguée yet she comes to me anyway.