When I fell asleep on the beach my blood sugars were stable, but I was perhaps too much of a perfectionist and injected 1 unit of insulin to get then in the ideal range for the night. At 12.30 my dexcom low alarm woke me, and before the cereal bars and sweets kicked in, I went down to 2.4.

I feel quite vulnerable as I’m so dependent on my dexcom. What level would I have woken up at without my alarm? All it takes is my phone to run out if battery or my sensor to be faulty.

The beach raking man wouldn’t have been happy to see me camping on his beach so I woke at 6 and started the 10km crossing to the island of Elba. A group of plovers came swooping through the still morning air and circled around me, dipping down over the calm waters. The peace was disturbed by ferries roaring across to Corsica and other islands, and I kept my wits about me as I crossed their path. My sugars were trending down and I although I had plenty, I imagined running out of sugar. At that moment, an orange appeared in the water, floating in front of me.

I reached Elba and stopped on a little pebbly beach for breakfast. Paolo, a sea kayaker from Pisa, glided in, and he showed me how to use a Greenland paddle. Elba is incredibly beautiful and kayaking has got to be the best way to see it. My words and photos can do it no justice – you have to visit!

Carrying on around the northern side of the island, I passed the main port of Poroferraio, where Napoleon lived for the 9 months he was exiled to Elba.

A quick bit of history: Napoleon was forced to abdicate in 1814 after defeat at the battle of Leipzig, the largest battle in Europe until WWI. The signing of the Treaty of Fontainbleau meant Napoleon was exiled to Elba, but was given sovereignty over the island and allowed to keep his title of emperor. In the 9 months he was on Elba, Napoleon created a small military force and made some changes like building new roads, that had a lasting impact. He then escaped, returned to France and took rule for 100 days, before being defeated at the Vattke of Waterloo. The British sent him to St Helena, a remote island in the atlantic, where he died aged 51 from stomach cancer (although some people say he was poisoned).

I came to Marciana Marina and met another sea kayaker. Having found nowhere secluded to sleep, I put my kit back on and paddled in the fading light to my own private cove.

After my hypo in the night, the rebounded to go high. I’m pleased that I managed to get things stable during the day.