Unfortunately, this has become a bit of a habit. My grandma has a house in the lovely Roussillon fishing village of Collioure, and sitting some 650m above sea level is a little thing called the ‘La Tour Madeloc’. It is basically a tower. On top of a big hill. Quite a steep hill. Here is it from a distance. You can just about spot it on the middle peak.

A few years ago I accidentally joked that I was going to run up to it. Previously, the thing we joked about was running to a windmill that wasn’t very high up a hill. However, I have this little problem that when I say I am going to do something, I feel like I have to do it. So I did. Took myself up with a Camelbak, having no idea how long it would take, met a few new friends at the top who asked if I wanted to head down and tackle the next hill along as they were doing three big climbs that day (NO are you crazy you mad French people, I’ve nearly died doing this one), smashed it back down and promptly lay on the front porch not moving for 30 minutes.

