So, last Sunday Pip arrived and we did things such as climb the local mountain and swim in the (not particularly warm) river, which was filled with young trout.
|Atop Ben Hiant|
|Look at his widdle face... you'd never think he was the author of controversial dystopian literature.|
Sans duck, we took a trip to Tobermory, scene of faintly unsettling British childrens' television program Balamory, ate posh chips, and discovered an honesty shop which was filled to the rafters with Mills & Boons. This proved to be most convenient, as the photograph below demonstrates:
The final night was spent sippin' homemade alcoholic concoctions... sloe gin for me, potent French apple brandy for Pip. I indulged in some sneaky stitchery of the aforementioned soon-to-be-revealed piece, too.
In fact, we managed to get through a nigh-on obscene amount of booze during our three weeks in Branault... in the two weeks before Pip arrived, my parents and I seemingly drank seventeen bottles of wine... definitely time to switch into life post-uni, methinks!