Things it is not a good idea to do in a hot climate, part 47:

Skip breakfast and allow French people to feed you rosé at 11.30 a.m.

Well, things have been, erm, interesting since I last updated. Spoke to the parents and told them about the creepy housemate and they panicked and forced me to move out immediately. This led to me going round expat bars and throwing myself on the mercy of the owners. I managed to find a flat for the short-term and I explained the situation to Olivier last night and he laughed at me, told me I should have followed my instincts and then said I could move in with him. He's a long way from the town centre, which means spending more time on African roads (I just sent my parents a huffy email saying, 'huh? is this any better?') but he's also a long way from the creepy French businessmen who started hitting on me yesterday and led to me feeling more scared and panicked than I ever did with the housemate. Still, I trust Olivier and he's good company - uses his judgement about people, doesn't just go running towards Europeans - so it's worked out quite well.

And I spent the weekend with an extravagant Frenchman who kept feeding me cheese and wine, so perhaps it was worth it after all.

I would also like to announce to the world that I am no longer Hannah Roberson, no fish. I maintain the right to be Hannah Roberson, extremely picky about fish and I'm not ready for anything with eyes yet, but if you take the icky dangly bits of prawns and deep fry them then they don't make me feel physically ill any more.

I also drink beer. What has Togo done to me?