Saturday: Don’t worry weather fans, I have not been kidnapped in the French jungle, I just couldn’t find the computer because of all the sunshine. I am now in the south of France, reporting just minutes from the beachside. I have picked up some injuries scything my way through the Gallic fields, slightly grazing my ankle while conquering a mountain and bruising my wrist while abseiling off a cliff face. All is well. Sunny.

Sunday: Met a French postman in Dijon. He swiftly got a round of white wines in, seemingly ignorant of the fact it had just turned midday. As we bade him farewell to continue the voyage, I was thankful our postmen don’t have the same mentality, great though it is, for we would surely never get any post because all the workers had slipped off for a breakfast pint or two. Showers.

Next week: We are off towards Spain tomorrow, winding our way between the mountains of the Pyrennes. I am contemplating paragliding, or some other daredevil act, though must ensure I file next week’s column or I shall surely be replaced by some younger weather hack who is more focused on the job and less on holidaying across Europe. Right, I’m off to the bar now. Sun and showers.