A week or so without a post. But I have a very credible excuse, since I have been on a trip to track the Himalayan llama. Sadly, this exercise ended in failure, not least because there are no such llamas in the south of France, and I didn' t realise this until five days into my trip. In fact, the whole thing was horribly embarrassing: shambing around with an excess of equipment (why oh why did I bring that trouser-press?), with no-one but a tedious guide for company, looking for a beast that wasn't there.

To tell the truth, the guide was worse than useless. Not only could he not speak English, but neither could he speak French, and this resulted in many comic episodes (like the time I became so irritated that I pushed him off the side of a mountain, and he had to be airlifted to hospital. What larks!). Still, he was actually Himalayan, and would have been able to track the llamas had there been any to follow.

So after this disappointment, I retreated into isolation, intending to spend the rest of the holiday in hermit-like conditions. But even this was frustrated, since, when I ascended an apparently suitable location, I encountered no fewer than twenty other hermits at the same location. They were having a 'Management Meeting', drawing up a list of regulations and contracts. This seemed to defeat the point as far as I could work out, but they made some interesting resolutions. In particular, they decided that all Hermits have to sign a consent form, declaring that they agreed to spend their time alone (barring twice-weekly progress report meetings). This had apparently become necessary after a former hermit became depressed at the lack of social contact, and had tried to sue the Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg, claiming to have been unaware of the limited opportunities for socialising. Combatting this problem, the remaining hermits had installed an bar-diner on the mountain, called 'Hermit's Retreat' and offering karaoke and an observation platform for tourists.

To be honest, this was the worst bar I've ever been to. The company was, well, unengaging, and I drank myself into oblivion, suffering a disturbing dream about being chased by llamas across a desert. I had to escape, and after listening to a hideous version of Village People's 'YMCA' by a hermit calling himself 'Simon the Unkempt', I threw myself blindly out of the doors, and ran panic stricken down the mountain. My flight was halted by a collision with a mini-van. I was back in civilisation! 'Rescue me! Rescue me!' I blathered, but the man drove off rapidly with a strange look on his face. Coincidentally, the police arrived soon after. They were very kind - providing free accommodation and a flight home, on condition that I don't return for three years. A strange deal, perhaps, but being banned from Wales sets a poor precedent, so I can't really challenge the decision. Still, I can always hunt the llama in Luxembourg next year.