I woke at 4am with a blinding heading (not I hasten to add through any sort of alcohol consumption as this was in great moderation). I sat up and snot just fell out of my face. I lay back down onto one of the many stones that we'd failed to move before we set the tent up. God it was bloody freezing. I lay there for a few more hours until dawn broke properly and took my hurting back, painful head and streaming nose out of the tent to go and make a mug of tea. Camping sucks.
We both sat in the car with the heaters on and wondered what the hell we were getting ourselves into. This was just one night in Bournemouth. How would we all manage when there was hundreds of miles of nothingness in every direction?
Grabbing our freshly baked break rolls from reception on the way out (yes, more slumming it) we headed back to Yucels.
Before heading back home we popped into town and dragged ourselves round a camping shops (Blacks) and ooed and ahhed and the exciting lightweight metal sporks and the dazzling number of types of compasses. Looked like it's about £100 for a sleeping bag in which I won't freeze to death in the middle of some desert.
A browse through a bookshop lead me to read an interesting fact about Mongolia. Apparently you get bubonic plague there between July and August. A shame really as that's when we'll be there.