gin drinking in southern france


So far this holiday has consisted of a lot of swimming, a lot of sunbathing, a worrying amount of food, a hell of a lot of gin and very, very, very little room for anything else. Of the surplus outfits I painstakingly rolled up in my suitcase back in England little over a week ago, I have lived practically single-handedly in two; a white bikini and a black bikini. Hallelujah.

I have also worked my way through 5 books, including one which took 4 days of solid morn-noon-night reading and left me feeling as though I was losing a friend when it eventually ended, such feeling of loss and despair I've not felt since the end of Breaking Bad (and all three times I rewatched it, might I add). Another book made me cry. Another one made me laugh. All five were favourable to reading work emails, so let's leave it at that. 














































I could curl up in a ball and cry at the sheer thought of getting on a plane back to England in two days time, so until then I am going to see how much more gin I can cram into my body, whether 3 ice-creams in one day will make me feel sick or fabulous, and if there is a limit to how much I can tan before inevitably burning and/or peeling.

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