Clutch pedal, it’s broken, no it’s not, but after some wine, the problem seems fixable, metal has sheared away, maybe a broken bolt. It could be worse. The van was under water up to the sills six months ago, then left alone and desolate on a farm. Only a matter of a week and a few days and we decided that the van needed us. Today after a very long 24 hours the van has made it from Penryn to Fontainebleau. Parked up at the bivvy site in Bourron-Marlotte, the broken clutch doesn’t seem so bad, other rattles, squeaks and thumps could have manifested as a problem, never mind. Last time I was here the temp was -10 today it’s nearer 20. The Forest is soft with evening sunlight and the buzz of bees, the cicada hum, the orange light fades to dark as the late August sun drops. England seemed autumnal, maybe we will hang onto a summer, at least for a few days before adding to a flow that came from within and in trueness made all holds hang-able as the Alps call.
Too much stress the last week means that little thought had been given to bouldering, its not a week ago that we were down at Tintagel, the sharp black rock and the blue sea still a memory, whilst seaweed sticks and clings to the Franklin pad.
Postcript. It is broken, it’s in a garage, a French garage. We are in a hotel.