I've Moved

I have taken the plunge, and from now on you can find me at www.rabbitconfusedwithraisins.wordpress.com

I hope tis not too much inconvenience. I dont have too many readers nowadays anyway - so hopefully there will be only a few feeds to be modified.

See you in a bit.

Sam

Lenny the Idiot

Lenny is a stupid cat. He doesn't realise that cats aren't supposed to lie on their backs.

This is pretty much the way he sleeps most of the time.



Stupid cat.

Tricky those Photocopiers

We are currently in the process of buying a house. At present my 1.5 hour commute each way is killing me, so we are moving north - back to the land of my childhood, flat-caps, wellies and middle class ladies in SUVs taking their kids to school. That the life for me!

Lucy is still holding out some hope of being in the house before Christmas, possibly because everyone we speak to in the trade tells us that 'it should be around 4-6 weeks to get you in'. We have no chain, they have no chain.

Of course when you ask around, no-one in the history of mankind has ever actually been in their house within 4-6 weeks. I have no idea where than number has been taken from.

For a start you have to deal with inept banks. This time my frustrations are directed at NatWest who are organising the mortgage. Yes NatWest, I am naming and shaming you for all of your wrongdoings, here on the internet for all to see, on this here blog which very few people actually read! Ha!

Its a ridiculously simple thing which has been holding us up. In order to get our mortgage, I, who am not a NatWest customer need to take in my passport to my local branch and get it photocopied and stamped, with the photocopy sent through to the mortgage arm of the branch.

I took an hour off work to take my passport into the nearest branch (of course most branches only open 09.30 to 16.30 which makes this in itself a pretty difficult task). They did the required copying and sent it through to the mortgage bit. We waited...

...nothing happened. After a few days we were frustrated with the lack of news and called the mortgage centre up to find out what the delay was. They informed us that the passport hadn't been stamped properly. They agreed to make our mortgage an urgent priority. We were annoyed but went back into our local branch on the Saturday morning to get another copy done. Then another wait...

...nothing happened. We chased the bank again and surprise, surprise they said that the passport hasn't been stamped properly. Again they agreed to make the passport an urgent priority and this time they gave us a list of all of the things that the branch had to do in this complicated photocopying tasks.

I had to make a round trip missing a meeting at work to a branch near Bradford, outside which I had to wait for 30 mins with a huge queue for the bank to open. They all open at different times you see, obviously for lack of demand at 9 in the morning. They dont percieve a queue of 10 people outside of the bank being demand it seems. I stood there and made them do the copies properly with the two different stamps. They sent it through...

... Surprise surprise, nothing happened. We called up and they told us the passport copy was smudged so they couldn't accept it. Lucy screamed at them, so they agreed to make our mortgage an urgent priority (again). The guy in the mortgage centre offered to put us through to the branch so we could scream at them instead. Nice of him.

At this stage we had lost around 2 weeks of time and Lucy and I wanted to get this in quick. She had to go home at lunch to pick up my passport whilst we arranged to meet at Huddersfield NatWest - somewhere we should have both been able to make within 40 mins of our workplace - meeting in the middle.

I set off from work at 3.30 (I told your they close at the extremely useful time of 16.30 didn't I?) missing an important meeting and hightailing it to the M62. Just as I passed the last exit on the M606 heading onto M62 westbound, I hit a wall of traffic. The M62 was shut westbound and I couldn't escape. I spent 2 hours in that traffic queue going 1 junction. I have never been so pissed off in my entire life. If there was a camera in that car - it would make some very amusing viewing.

So. I set off to work yesterday to take my passport in before work (another bit of work missed), managed to battle through the snow as far as the inner ring road when - my power steering went in my car. The lord did not want this passport photocopy!

I borrowed Lucy's car and after dropping my car at a garage (£516 the repair is costing me!), we got to the bank and went through the whole rigmarole again. The girl in the branch couldn't really understand why we were so adamant about checking the photocopies - but we made sure she put every stamp on perfectly.

We rang the bank in the late afternoon (it takes 8 hours for the photocopy to get onto the system - didn't I say). It had been rejected again. this time one of the stamps wasn't quite legible. Lucy screamed and screamed. they decided that with the 4 copies of the passport, they would probably be alright actually and actually they would accept it.

Its amazing what a bit of screaming will do.

Tha Winter Light

Its amazing the rubbish you can find adorning shop windows in some of the tourist towns of this country of ours. Little metal buckets with random words daubed on them, small wooden animals, wreathes shaped like hearts with little red bows.

I know this, for I spent the majority of the weekend chaperoning Lucy through the miriad of chintz shops to be found in the towns of Grasmere and Ambleside in the Lake District. Lucy has been somewhat distracted by home and leisure type magasines of late, for we, finally are about to lay down some roots and enter the housing market. A big step for two people who haven't lived in the same house for more than two years since leaving home.

The only problem is, that with Lucy in charge I think our house may end up looking a little like a cross between a Beatrix Potter scene and an old peoples home. Its all I can do to veto the purchase of porcelain ducks.

In between viewing tiny blue bookshelves which are not big enough nor strong enough to actually hold a book - we once more got a little walking in.

This time we were blessed with not only good weather, but excellent light for photography. I always love getting out in the winter.


Left behind!


Clucky the Chicken


Flat Light

Spooky!

We may have come face to face with some real ghosts this weekend. Or at least, if ghosts did exist, they would be sure to hangout at the place we stayed last night.

This weekend we went down to Lea Hall, in the heart of glorious Derbyshire. Yes, its a bit far south - but I promise you it looks a lot like the north, so it is probably worth a visit!

Lea Hall was the childhood home of Florence Nightingale and so had some proper history and that. The rooms were fantastic and Lucy got this rather shadowy shot of the bed which I like:



(the toblerone you can see was a present to me, and lasted approximately 2 hours)

The reason for this visit was the 6 year anniversary of us getting together. I didn't reveal to Lucy where we were going until the blooming sat-nav gave the game away when we were about half a mile from the house. I probably made a mistake by hinting that passports may be required for the weekend. This may have potentially led to a problematic heightening of expectations. It was a damn good weekend though!

View Over Valley

Lucy and I are close to making some big decisions at the moment. With my new job has come a 1 hr 20 minute each way commute and we need to figure out a way to narrow this down. We're pretty close to actually getting off this goddam rental train and actually purchasing a place of our own. Its about time really - but we both still harbour sectret desires to sack everything off and go and live in a tent in some faraway place. Pretty difficult to do with a big fat mortgage in tow.

As we usually do when we have things to discuss, we head for the hills. I took this one in some valley I dont know the name of - while walking near Derwent reservoir. The reds of the moors are fantastic in the Autumn, and I always think you can do much better photography in the winter months than summer if you get a clear day:

Ho Hum.

I have made the decision that I really need to get back into this blogging malarkey. Its been a hectic 12 months, but hopefully some of that should be dying off and I should have some free evenings again.

That job I wasn't sure I wanted - I took it, and we are even looking at buying a house at the moment (though a major issue is the fact that I am the crappest negotiator ever to grace this earth).

I thought that in order to get hings going again I would have delve into my Flickr account for any photos which I have stashed away and could use. Then I had a minor heart attack when I found out all of my photos were missing! Thank god it was just my account expiring and I can recover them - otherwise I may have cried.

Here's one of the boys standing on the top of a via ferrata route we did in the Dolomites in May. A little too dark to see faces, but still I like it:



Hopefully I will be around a little more from now on!

Some do and Some Dont

When Lucy and I took my new car out for its first run a couple of weeks ago (new car because I now have a new job and have had to give up the company Prius), I discovered a little difference in our approach to life.

We set off from a straightforward junction to be greeted with the vision of the car in front being ploughed into by a late turning honda civic full of preppy rugby players. The civic must have been accelerating hard as around it span to about face and begin drifting back in to my new prized possession. It was at this point that I realised Lucy and I are not of the same breed.

I, a veteran of several car crashed, had the following chain of reactions:

1. Oh shit if he drifts back into the side of my car and dents it I am going to be mightily pissed off
2. They're probably alright - these things usually look worse than they are
3. What am I going to have for dinner?
4. Lucy wants me to stop, if I do that here I may dent my car or scratch my alloys mounting the curb
5. For some reason the sun-glasses compartment is slightly too small to fit my sunglasses in. Why would they do that?
6. Boy am I glad that I wasn't one car further up or that would have been my car with the bumper hanging off.

Lucy, who has never been in an accident had a slightly different reaction:

1. Screams silently
2. Oh shit that looked bad I hope everyone is ok!
3. We have to stop, Sam stop the car, I dont care about your alloys - just stop the car!
4. Are you guys alright, I will call an ambulance.
5. Whats the number for the ambulance?
6. We need to hang around for 8 million hours (in the cold) to check if they get in the ambulance ok and to make sure that the police get our details for an insurance claim in which the driver of the civic as already admitted fault.

It turned out the passenger was a little bit injured. Only a broken arm or something (my diagnosis from around 3 metres away) - Lucy did the right thing, I am always proud of how she acts in a crisis.

I am more the guy that walks past. In this situation it didn't really matter - but as a rule, being the guy that always walks past is nothing to gloat about.

On Other People

I probably haven't written anything on this before, but Lucy's sister is married to a pretty talented guy who works on special effects for major blockbusters (he has done kick-ass and The Sourcerers Apprentice). I probably haven't written anything on this because I am mildly jealous.

He video calls with major Hollywood directors once a week, I have weekly conference calls with engineers working in the sewage treatment industry.

He took his fancy pants DSLR camera with HD video function on our recent Lebannon trip. Only the first third or so were the bits I was at, but its a pretty good video (though there are too many shots of him with his top off for my liking). It gives you a feel for the craziness of Lebanese weddings.

Random Review: 6 of The Best...

... epic adventure books

For the last few months, I have been filling my impressionable mind with thoughts of adventure. I am not a big fan of fiction, I find that although the stories can enthrall me and whisk me away, I can get the same feelings of escapism, along with a large dose of 'that's pretty unbelievable' from true stories. And to satisfy the fact that I rarely get the opportunity to go climbing, I can marry these together in my current favourite type of book - epic adventure biographies from times gone by. Here are my favourites:

The White Spider - Heinrich Harrer (1959)

And why not start with the ultimate in climbing stories. I already reviewed one of my favourite books, the Heinrich Harrer book Seven Years in Tibet. And boy did this guy have some life! Before he was the first westerner allowed into Tibet and permitted audience with the Dalai Llama (after escaping a British PoW camp in India), Heinrich was one of the most celebrated of european climbers after scaling the most difficult and prestigious wall of that time - The North Face of the Eiger.

Heinrich (by his own admission in the pre-face to Seven Years in Tibet), is not the most fluent of writers, nor does he need to be - for this story of an epic journey up an uncharted climb facing down death on a number of occasions tells itself. This book is credited with being the inspiration for a great number of future climbers who have taken up the call of difficult, dangerous ascents. Only when you read this, will you understand why.

4 out of 5 Rabbit Raisins

Into Thin Air - Jon Krakauer (1996)

Jon Krakauer is a journalist and expert in story-telling. He is also a fine mountaineer having climbed some difficult big-wall routes and attempted the Eiger North Face - though at the time of this Mount Everest ascent, none of this had been experience at high altitude. As a part of a guided expedition to report on the increasing traffic on Everest's slopes, Jon attempted Everest on a fateful day in 1996 when 8 climbers were killed high on the mountain.

Its not just the way which Jon writes which makes this an amazing book, its also the presence of real-life drama in the writers life. In the book Jon levels some criticisms at the guides responsible for getting their clients to the summit, with reference to their safety practices and their competition with other guided parties. This book led to a great deal of controversy within the high-altitude guiding field.

4 out of 5 Rabbit Raisins

The Climb - Anatolo Boukreev (1996)

Anatoli Boukreev was the most experienced and fit guide on the disasterous Everest expedition of 1996. He summited without supplementary oxygen (an extremely difficult feat) and enacted an extremely brave rescue following the difficult summit day, of a number of clients stranded outside. He was also on the receiving end of some of the blame from Krakauers book on the safety mistakes faced by the expedition. Read in conjunction with Into Thin Air, this book is totally enthralling.

On an Everest expedition, there is supposed to be a turnaround time, at which point if you haven't reached the summit, you have to turn and go back down because the cold weather is coming in, your oxygen is most likely running out, and you have spent too long above 8000m. This turn around time was ignored (it is thought that, because of the large amounts of money clients had paid to do the climb and the intense competition, expedition leaders wanted as many to summit as possible). 

Other mistakes made include a lack of supplementary oxygen, and a lack of fitness and experience amongst the clients. Boukreev was specifically targeted for summiting without oxygen (if a client had had problems, oxygen would have enabled Boukreev to provide more support), and for going ahead of the party to get to the tents first. 

Perhaps its because Boukreev writes with a small hint of arrogance, or perhaps its because Krakauer is the superior writer - but I found it easier to sympathise with Krakauer's case and cause, but what seems to me as so obvious and simple as a reader, is not so simple to think through at over 8000m above sea level when your brains have gone to mush and your body is slowly eating itself.

3 out of 5 Rabbit Raisins

Into the Wild - Jon Krakauer (1996)

This book isn't about climbing, but is by  climber! This is a true story from an investigative journalist about Christopher McCandless, a student who abandons his comfortable middle america life - giving away all of his money and possessions including his car, and heading out on the road with a dream of getting to Alaska and to live self sufficiently, at least for a while. 

The book is expertly written (I am not so keen on the film version) as for parts of it, you are totally with McCandless, admiring of the actions he has taken, breaking free from the chains of society and just living hand to mouth however he can. It inspires you as the reader to consider your own chains in life an the potential for casting those away and setting off on your own epic journey to take you wherever. You admire his bravery.

On the other hand, there are actions which McCandless takes which are difficult to reconcile and appear selfish and hurtful at face value. The biggest for me, is the fact that he doesn't tell his family, in particular his sister that the is going and that he is safe. In his bid to change his own life, he takes away several years of those around him. The writer almost asks the reader to come up with their own judgement on McCandless actions. I don't think think is brought out in the film.

4.5 out of 5 Rabbit Raisins

Annapurna - Maurice Herzog (1952)

In 1950, 3 years before Hillary and Norgay reached the summit of Everest, Herzog and Lachenal became the first mountaineers to summit a Himalayan peak of over 8,000m. The summit was Annapurna. This account tells of the massive efforts of hundreds of people which went into forming the expedition. From Nepali porters, to sherpas, to liaison officers, climbers a medical officer and photographer, the story is as much of Nepali attitudes to the climb and climb organisation as it is of an epic struggle of a group of experienced French alpine guides.

What fascinated me about this book, is that one of the first things they have to do, is locate the mountain! There is only one map of the area which is hand drawn and inaccurate, and the Nepalis rarely go up o such heights. At one point they head over the wrong pass and end up in Tibet - where the surprised residents werent even aware that Nepal was at the other side of the pass! 

The book is extremely well written and keeps you glued to its pages right to the very end when Herzog and Lachenal have to be evacuated from the mountain on stretchers complete with frostbite to hands and feet.

4.5 out of 5 Rabbit Raisins

Touching the Void - Joe Simpson (1988)

This book need no introduction really. A Sheffield local, Joe Simpson ans Simon Yates experienced a terrible tragedy in 1985 on the Suila Grande in Peru. Simpson broke his leg on the decent and was lowered bu Yates rope length by rope length until he was accidentally lowered over a precipice. Yates had no choice but to cut the rope and Simpson fell into a crevasse from which he had to crawl for many miles.

The subsequent film was a success and although it is very mainstream, this is an example of a climber who is also a very good writer. Highly recommended.

4 out of 5 Rabbit Raisins

Went Camping

Went Camping.

It rained.

A lot...

Actually I have to say I don't really mind camping in the rain much. so long as I have the right gear to stay dry and can retreat to the local pub for a few when it all becomes a bit much. Because we waited out those two days of misery and  wet feet. Because we spent those nights awake, with that 'desperate for the toilet' feeling, the one where you are waiting for that one bloody gap in the rain to allow you to get outside and pee against the hubcaps of your car. Because of all that, we were one of a few campers to witness the perfect weather that came in on Monday morning in Langdale.

On the way back home ... for the second time, I got to meet my beautiful baby niece Imogen. In fact I can now post up a photo of both of my nieces together. We Hugheses are multiplying don't you know.

Fair Verona

During our may trip to Lake Garda in Italy, we made a day getaway to the infamous city of Verona full of visions of glorious balconies. Verona itself is beautiful, full of some fantastic architecture - not to mention the best pizzeria I have ever been to.

The balcony itself was a bit confusing for me. I admit I am not an expert in Shakespearean literature, however I was under the impression that that the play was a fiction, and not in fact, a fact. 

Not the way these guys were selling it - the tour guides and the placards were there preaching to the amassed throng of tourists about the various comings and goings of the descendants of the Capulet family over the centuries?! You mean the Capulets - that made up family? I mused.

I was further confused over the logistics of the whole scenario, in that in order to climb into the courtyard, one would have to climb onto the roof of one of the smaller buildings. Not a problem in itself - but on surmounting said roof, surely it would be far more simple to just climb onto the balcony (around 4 ft higher than the roof) rather than down into the courtyard where young Romeo would have to make a 20ft ascent up a sheer wall to Juliets arms. It just didn't make sense to me.

On our trip we visited some stately gardens which we walked through with our friends. Lucy and I took a walk up one of the steep banks at the rear of the garden, and I spotted The Nurse and his girlfriend in such a situation as I thought would make a nice photograph. I probably took 10 photos of this type from various angles. I was quietly smug because I thought I had a good shot.

It was only afterwards, that I realised that I had invaded one of the most private moments a person could have. For this shot was taken at almost the precise moment that the Nurse offered a proposal to his girlfriend - and she had accepted!

So belated congratulations and as my engagement present have this photo of your engagement to keep.

I have also landed myself the duty of joint best man, so stag-do here I come!

Choices

I had a job interview this week. For a job that 12 months ago, I would have really really wanted Its for a great company and for a great position, with loads of resources and my own team to manage...

...trouble is, if I get offered the job, I don't think I will take it.

Its a funny little choice I find myself with, and one which I think has been experienced by many people around my age. Several of my friends, as they have neared the 30 mark, have undertaken a little self reflection and decided that maybe climbing the greasy pole is not for them.

I have one friend who has a very well paid job in one of the major banks at canary wharf and is applying for charity work at a wage less than half of what she is already earning, I have another friend who quit his IT job after 10 years to set up his own business selling betting tips! 

One of my best friends who works in the consultancy sector, providing IT support to financial institutions handed his notice in last week, after 6 years slogging his guts out in a job he hated for a nice fat wage. He is going back to university. His company were so upset that they were talking about legal action as he wanted to leave his job one week before the end of his notice period.

Personally - my work is getting a bit much for me at the moment. I don't seem to see Lucy at all, spending my time traveling up and down the M1, working weekends and being constantly stressed. This has got to change because I am presently a misery to be around. I am not one of those people who can switch off their work life when at home - and I desperately wish I was.

However, the last thing I want to do is jump out of the frying pan, and into the fire. More money, more responsibility, will probably mean more workload and stress in the end.

I find myself secretly hoping that I don't get the new job offer, as if I do I will be faced with one of the largest decisions I have had to make. 

Please don't offer me the job!

As per making my current job more bearable. We are working on a plan...

Famous Borders

In 'the village' we crowded into a sweaty minibus and headed toward the border. We had decided after a little deliberation, that there was no real risk and it should be ok. After a 10 minute journey and one downhill bump start we made it.

The border between Lebanon and Israel was not how I expected it to be. In my mind I saw a desolate strip of wasteland between two huge wire fences. In reality the fence was small and on the other side were the green irrigated fields of Israel and a rather pleasant looking village with sunbaked red roofed houses. A couple of workers were planting next to the fence and though there were a few soldiers and a big white UN tanks, there was nothing that inconspicuous about the scene.

In fact I found it very peaceful. No traffic (its seems to be pretty hard to avoid the traffic in Lebanon, particularly in Beirut), no hustle and bustle - some nice looking villas and a view of a wide valley. Its hard to believe that only a few days before, this very area (a spot no more than a mile or so away) - was the subject of international media coverage, due to this unfortunate incident. The serene fields which filled my view, had actually, in recent years witnessed large tank battles.

The reason for us being at the Lebanese border last week was for the wedding of Lucy's brother to his Lebanese girlfriend in Beirut. Her family invited us out for a day trip to the village where her father was brought up close to the border (you need to show your passport to get into the village). We had an amazing reception from all of her relatives who still lived in the mainly Christian area which was the brunt of a fair bit of military action in the 2006 war. Everywhere new houses were being put up in the place of old, abandoned shells, including a rather majestic looking villa being erected by the bride's father. 

The views were fantastic, though I was told that I couldn't go wandering in the hills, as is my want - for there are still a few land mines around.

Beirut - where we are staying, is now a favourite city of mine. Its a city - full of contrasts. It appeared a playground for rich Arabs, but was also full of culture and history. You are never too far away from a soldier on patrol, a wal full of bullet holes, or the burnt out shell of the old Holiday Inn tower block. 

Beirut is a real party capital. We spent one night partying till 6am with a 3 litre bottle of vodka to keep the 10 of us going on a rooftop club full of rich socialites. You could only get into the club if you booked a table - and you could only get a table if you spent an obscene amount of money on spirits. We did both.

During our days, we took a trip to see impressive Roman ruins in Baalbek (which put the Hadrians Wall to shame), and went to the craziest (and most expensive) beach I have ever seen (where waiters bring you drinks, and there is no sand!).

Lucy at Baalbek

But the whole point of being there, the culmination of the week - was the wedding. The wedding was something out of this world.

For starters, it was in a 5 star hotel, the likes of which I have never seen before. All gold plating, crystal and glass. The kind of hotel which I wouldn't pay for, even if I was a millionaire (the rooms ran from $400 to $20,000 a night).

There were violinists and fire spitters to start us off, then the bride appeared on a balcony high above the crowd, and the music began. Th bride disappeared as the groom entered complete with 4 professional dancers who glided around him whist fireworks threw sparks over the edges of the stage. All credit to the groom - he took it in his stride with no complaint!

And then there was food and free drink all night...

No stuffiness and formality - jost a lot of good food and rum! It was an excellent all round experience.

The Bride and Groom

Big Red

Snakes and Ladders

This time we took our friend The City Worker up into the mountains. And instead of climbing rocks we were climbing iron ladders. Great big massive iron ladders, one of which was 50 metres in length.

These are the the kind of ladders which you don't tackle without any equipment for clipping in, for a fall from the ladder itself could be fatal, even not considering the fact that the adder is high up on a rock face.

We began the climb with a steep uphill walk with good views of Lake Garda:

The Nurse and I led the climbs, up ladders with hundreds of rungs which ascended up into the mist, seemingly never ending.

Climb four rungs, clip. Climb four rungs, clip. The guide book said it would take 30 mins to climb one of the ladders alone - and it was right!

The City Worker was the only non climber among us, and he did a pretty good job! He tried to change the subject every time I spoke about how much it would hurt if we fell, and he complained a lot  but to be honest he always complains a lot.

Here he is completing the daddy of all the ladders:

And leaning back on my harness I managed to get a little video of him looking up for the first time:

I have the Internet Again!

Finally, after having moved house around a month ago, and after having confirmed that BT are indeed the most dis-organised organisation on the planet - I have the internet at home!

After clearing out the links to dodgy sites which had accumulated in my comments section, the first thing I did was to upload my photographs for Team Bandicoot on the Hadrians Walk. Rather than bore you with them all, you can go to see them here on my Flickr page.

I thought I ought to post up the picture from the start of the walk (incidentally, only one of our party started in the sea, having been the only one who could be bothered to wade through the mud):

Bowness on Solway

Left to right: The Sergrant Major, The Tank, Me, Lucy, The Nurse, The City Worker, Katie, Will, Mike (who incidentally never looks at the camera), Alex, Mark (Buff creator), and the Artist (in distance).

I think probably my most favourite shot from the walk has to be this one, taken on the way into Houghton North Farm:

Fields of Gold (ish)

And here we are at the end, substantially more sweaty, and with a fair few more blisters:

Wallsend

Left to right: The Artist, The City Worker, Me, Mark, Alex, Will, Lucy, Katie, The Nurse, Mike, the Sergeant Major, the Tank (Front - DNF).

Thanks to everyone who took part, it was a great week and I think we may be able to turn it into a annual event. Particular thanks goes to our mobile Podiatrist who followed us the who breadth of the country - keeping the team going with foam padding, strapping and cans of Carlsberg.

Julia - Our Mobile Podiatrist

On Heros and Twits

There is a fine line between being a hero and being a twit. A very fine line indeed. 

Simple acts of heroism can be converted into twittishness in the highest order within seconds. Not just twittishness though - extremely embarassing twittishness, which is worse.

Take for example the time my friends and I cycled over Holme Moss in celebration of the Sergeant Major's birthday (lord knows why). We must have been around 11 years old and we slogged our way over the top of the sweaty hill to a long gratifying free wheel on the other side. In order to cool ourselves down, we took a dip in a nearby river - parking our bikes up some way down the road and walking the last bit to a suitable pond.

The Sergeant Major's Dad then came wandering along afterwards in order to enact repairs on the Sergeant Major's broken bike. A gentle type, he got on with his work quietly. Until disturbed by some bruiser of a man who was playing at being a hero.

The man mistook the intentions of said Dad for those of stealing bikes from poor 11 year old kids. He decided that the most heroic thing to do, was to punch the poor Dad in the face in order that he would be forever put off from his thieving ways. Unfortunately, the hero spotted his mistake very shortly afterwards and was forced to beat a rapid running retreat when threatened with the police (we thought this event was hilarious at the time, but I am pretty sure that our friend's dad did not). 

An embarrassed twit, right?

Last week I went on the annual holiday with my friends in a town called Coimbra in Portugal (and once again I came back sick). On one of the nights we encouraged some unfortunate passing Japanese tourists that it would be a good idea to engage in some drinking games with some hardened British drinkers (I am referring to my friends, not to me!).

The game in question was Fu's phone. Its rules are simple. My friend is called Fu. He has a phone.  On that phone is a randon number generator (sometimes known as a stopwatch). He reads numbers out which correspond to numbers pre-allocated to our drinkers. When their number is read out - they have to drink. Simple but effective.

Anyway after playing said game for quite some time with our new friends the highly bemused (and rapidly deteriorating) Japanese tourists we all decided to go to a club.

The clubs in Coimbre, however are a massive pain in the arse. 

Basically the way they have it set up is that you get a card on the way in and every time you order a drink, the barman stamps said card and you pay for your drinks on the way out. Saves time right? 

Wrong. For all that they do is to ensure that every single person in the club has to queue up to pay at the end of the night and tempers flare as people just want to go home. This plays havoc with my mild self diagnosed claustrophobia. There aren't even fire escapes you can break out of - which is worrying.

So, there we were in the club with some inebriated Japanese friends. They seemed to be having a good time when we were in there. Only when we decided to leave we found that one guy had left (we found him wandering the street near our hostel later that night), one guy was sitting in the street with his face in his hands, and the girl that they were with was unable to leave the club as she had lost her card and had no money to pay the extortionate 50 euro fine (incidentally we decided later that if such clubs existed in the UK, everybody would go in drink as much as they could and then 'lose' their card and pay 50 euros to get out).

But more than that, the manager of said club was being rude to the poor upset girl, demanding that she find the money. She came up to me and told me he was making racist comments to her and that he had made some less than above board suggestions as to how she might pay her way out.

That was enough for me. Hw dare he make such suggestions! I got my nearest friend (the Lawyer) as back up and squared up to the manager, aiming to give him a piece of British what for! 

...then I realised who I am and where I was - so I just gave him 50 euros instead. 

The only thing is, that when I woke in the morning (read afternoon) with a light feeling in my wallet, I re-assessed some of my key memories. Memories which were substantially impacted upon by Fu's bloody phone. 

I had gone to bed thinking I was some kind of knight in shining armour to that poor girl. 

I had woken up realising I had just been done over 50 euros.

Of Iron Roads

As we got higher up the mountain, we nervously ploughed into thigh deep snow, putting into practice some of the winter skills we learnt during our course, but this time without the comfort of having an experienced guide directing our every step. We weren't quite sure what to expect and whether the going would get tougher, the snow drifts deeper and the danger or falling down the mountainside on our left, even greater as we wound our way upwards.

The guide book gave directions based upon landmarks, but we must have gone past several, a signpost here, a memorial plaque there, a fork in the road. They were supposed to be ten minutes apart, but it was hard to know what ten minutes should be, being as our progress was much slowed by the snow. Round the corner to fantastic views down the Lake Garda, the guide book said. We could just see grey sky.

The cloud began to lift as we were closing in on our first bit of Via Ferrata. Descend 200m into a large bowl, but be warned, this may contain some snow early in the season. Some snow! It contained massive bloody sheets of ice! It was only on the good advice of the chap in our local outdoors shop, that we even took ice axes. It would have been very difficult without.

The Nurse followed as I chopped steps down the mountainside to the first wired section. 

Via Ferrata routes are essentially long sections of wire attached to steep bits of rock, to which the quick fix climber can attach himself using a specifically designed lanyard. They were initially built in the Italian Dolomites to assist soldiers in the first world war by helping them climb quickly to great height without the use of ropes. This route was considerably newer than this (or at least I hoped so), and I am presuming just set up for sport.

When we got to the bottom of the bowl, we put on our harnesses and lanyards and began our ascent. The first section was a fairly easy chimney, up which the Nurse led the way. 

We then hit a massive patch of snow which was concealing all of the cables into which we needed to clip. The next clipping in point was visible about 10 feet away from us - the only problem being the traverse unprotected accross an icy slope with a massive drop on one side. We decided a much better idea was to spend 20 minutes furiously chopping through the snow to get to the submerged cable. Neither of us was prepared to stand on a slide away to nothing, without at least being clipped on somewhere.

The next pitch up a large crack was a little more challenging. It wasn't quite hard enough for me to think I was going to fall off, but still hard enough for me to spend my climbing time thinking about what the concequences would be, if I did fall off. 

Place hands, place feet, haul self up, look down, remind self never to look down again ... and repeat. It was a fair distance to the top crawling over the edge and making that final clip with no small sense of relief.

'The final pitch climbs at an easier angle', said the guide book. It didnt seem much easier to me with tired arms. The water cascading down the rock didn't assist slow progress, but did add to the adventure.

Wearily we drew ourselves over and walked the short distance to the top of the 2,200m peak. We opened the metal box which contained a climbers log. The last entry - October 2009, meaning we were the first climbers of the season. Something to be proud of I feel, and perhaps this explains why we were wading through virgin snow  the whole way up the mountainside. One thing was for sure, the second group of climbers of the season would have a much easier job digging those blasted cables out. 

We thought to rest until thwarted by an act of nature. 

We looked each other tentatively up and down. Two lonely souls on the highest peak on the range, caught in a thunderstorm! Luckily we had long metal sticks in our hands to ward off the bad weather. 

It was back down for us through hail and snow to sun-burnt girlfriends, cheap red wine and pizza.

We had a number of good little adventures on the trip. But I will save something for future posts!

You Bugger I Voted For You!

This whole election malarky has turned into a bit of shambles for me. Last night Lucy went to the polling station in Ranmoor 9 (part of Nick Clegg's constituency in Sheffield) at around 9 o' clock. The queues were right down the street. Lucy only managed to get in to vote because she was a 'resident' and in an area afflicted by students, she managed to jump the queue. 

She was locked in the polling station at 10pm along with a bunch of other people, whilst the poor sods left outside in the rain caused a bit of a ruckus (and to be honest I am not surprised). The police were involved and Nick himself came down to apologise to the voters.

This video on the BBC website shows the problem, the first people interviewed are at my polling station, just down the road for me.

Nick also sent me a nice flyer a couple of days ago which told me 'Labour cant win here'. My constituency is essentially a Tory or Lib-Dem battleground. I voted Lib-Dem purely in an effort to keep the Tories out. Now I find that Nick is talking Tory alliances! 

You bugger I voted for you.

On Doing Shots with Super Mario

So this is the end result of a weeks worth of toil on my Panthro suit. It involved a lot of parcel tape, selotape, insulation tape, PVA and garden wire. All together I was pretty happy with it! 

Liono's efforts were a little less impressive I have to say. Especially given as he is supposed to be the leader of the group (I never could understand why that was).

It was an awesome night! 

Apart from getting accosted by a rather camp He-Man for quite some time, I spent a lot of the night talking to various members of the Motley Crue as well as Tom Cruise from Top Gun. The goblin king from Laberynth kept trying to pull my spikes off, but I am pleased to say that they held firm (that'll be the £1 poundland insulation tape then).

However alcohol is not so abundant on the planet Thundera, and after a while - us cats got a little tipsy and tired. In the absence of the Thundertank (I thought it best not to drink and drive), we got a taxi back home to the Thundercats Lair (well, actually it was my mums house - 

she had to put blue sheets on the bed so that my face paint didn't stain them).

Tigra, Liono and Panthro - just chillin'

How to Make Your Own Panthro Suit

When I was a child I was very much obsessed with a children's cartoon series called The Thundercats.

The Thundercats was basically based around a group of cat like humanoids who had been exiled from their home planet Thundara (I believe) and were on a lifelong quest to sell plastic figurines to small kids. Their leader was Liono (who looked a little bit like a lion unsurprisingly), but there was also Cheetarah, Tigra, and by far the coolest Thundercat of them all ... Panthro.

Panthro was the older, cool headed Thundercat who made stuff out of other stuff. He even made the Thundertank (which he drove), which was awesome. It ate rocks for christs sake (though my mate has a plastic one and that definately did not eat rocks)!

Panthro was my favourite by a country mile.

On Saturday we are going to a fancy dress party, my friend's 30th in Huddersfield. The theme is 80's but rather than going in shell suits, we opted to dress up as the Thundercats.

The Nurse will be Tigra, the city worker is going as Liono and I (being in possession of one of his natural traites - no hair) will go as 'Panthro the Deadly'. Incidentally I am not sure where he got that name as, if I recall correctly - no-one ever died in a Thundercats episode.

Panthro the Deadly

My recipe for the perfect Panthero costume is as follows:

• 1 pair of tight blue leggings;
• 1 pair of blue speedos;
• Blue card;
• Red card;
• Black card;
• Silver card;
• Lots and lots of PVA glue;
• Part of the box that the TV came in (this is going to make shifting the TV next month when we move house that little bit more difficult);
• 1 pair blue football socks;
• 1 tight blue t-shirt;
• Lots of blue face paint; and
• 1 pair of nunchucks (available from any good weapons dealer)

Mix together for one mean looking Panthro!

I havent quite figured out whether this will work yet, but will keep you (the general internet) posted...

Oh, and also whilst researching all of this, I figured out that they are supposed to be releasing new Thundercats movie! Awesome!

Grey Crag

The Lake District in the UK has the reputation for having by far the worst weather in England. It basically pees it down 24/7. Which is why, when we went climbing yesterday - we were extremely surprised to see that glorious sunshine was forecast all day, and even more surprising was that there was to be not a smidgin of wind either.

We headed up to Grey Crag near Buttermere for some easy multiple-pitch climbing, and a not so easy 1 and a half hour 600m ascent walk to the base of the crag in baking hot sun with all out gear (my legs feel as though they are no longer under my control today).

Weirdly there were no other climbers at all. It not often you get perfect climbing conditions in the lakes (i.e. no wind or rain), but beside a few walkers, we saw not a soul.

I didn't get ay 'killer' shots (i.e. single handedly hanging off a rock by our little fingers 'cliffhanger' style). But here is one that I like (which was actually from when we were nearly back at the car):

Oh - and to the guy who decided to park his £1 ice cream van right next to the car park. Thanks, it was needed.

Its Been a While

I was just emptying out my camera in preparation for a trip to the lakes tomorrow (a brisk 5am start for me!), and found a couple of shots that I like from when Lucy and I were out walking on Mam Tor in the Peak District a month or so ago.

The snow had built up on the northern side of the hills and the strong sun we had that morning had melted everything on the south - creating this weird stripe down the landscape:

Hopefully I'll have some new photos tomorrow.

Curved Ridge

Last week there was a sad story in the news about a couple of climbers who were killed on the descent from Curved ridge in the Glen Coe area of Scotland. I have linked to the story here.
The scary thing about that story is that we were on the exact same ridge on day two of our winter mountaineering course!

When we were on our way down our guide warned us that you should never take the route we took when there is an avalanche risk. When we were there, it was mainly ice with little loose snow layers luckily.

We slid down on our backsides (I managed this video of Andy). The guys who died were on the ridge to the right trying to avoid the avalanche zone:




A few days later we were emailing our guide and recieved this message:

A big dump of snow again last week has made everything really dangerous. You just can't get into anything. The zig- zags on Gear Aonach that we did on the last day is about it, unless you want to get killed. An instructor and client were killed in the Coe on the Buchaillie on the way down having completed Curved Ridge. The corrie we slid down was correctly avoided, but even on the ridge on the right as you look up, which is considered a safe descent, avalanched. A friend of mine was guiding his own party just a few paces behind the others when it happened. Fractured right in front of him, Just a small slide 4-5m wide and only 150mm deep but enough to carry them all the way down the mountain. A real shock to the mountaineering/guiding comunity.

It just kind of proved to us that you cant mess around with mountaineering. The danger is very real.

I Think Lucy's Having an Affair

No, scrub that. I am sure that Lucy is having an affair!

I have been working a lot lately and getting quite stressed out about my job. Spending a lot of time in such splendid cultural metropoli as Reading and Swindon (I have been to pretty much every small town in this country with my work and I think Reading and Swindon between them are joint winners of the 'towns with least character award'). 

I think this time away  has allowed Lucy time to put her adulterous plans into action. Just the other day I came home from a long day on the road and Lucy met me at the door. 

'Hi' she said mischievously.

'I have made you something nice for dinner and have tidied the whole house for when you get home'

This has never happened before and I was taken aback. Keen to retain the moral high-ground I made sure that I pointed out that she had forgotten to mop the kitchen floor. I am generous like that, I like to take the time out to help her undertaken her chores properly.

She has made my dinner no less than THREE times this week and has taken me out for a meal and has been nothing but sickeningly nice to me all week. What more evidence does a person need! Now I just need to catch her in the act.

This Friday she sent me an email while I was at work - asking me if I wanted to go climbing and to the gym over the weekend. She said if I wanted I could watch the football with my mates while she did some baking! Watch the football for christs sake! I haven't been allowed to watch football sine about 2003!

I have given everything to her. Supported her when she was short of money. Diligently pointed out where she could make improvements with her housework. Pointed out when she was putting on weight, despite the danger to my personal safety. The list of my sacrifices goes on and on. 

And she does this to me. Fobs me off with chocolate and beer while running around behind my back.

To add to it all, I am pretty sure that the people who have moved in next door are KGB.

VIP

Last night the rock-star took us to see the Noisettes in Sheffield. It was excellent.

They show was pretty damn energetic, with the lead singer bounding around and contorting her body into shapes in which I would have trouble just speaking, let alone singing. This included a death defying number performed leaning precariously over the balcony banisters holding on solely through the power of her dextrous ankles.

The show was doubly good because the Rock Star is a performing arts graduate (although he maintains that he dislikes chattering performing arts students 'darling') and as such one of his ex-course-mates is a backing singer in the band. This meant we got free entry, which is always good!

Added to this, we went backstage and met the band and various groupies before heading off to a side room in some bar that they had booked. I was a little disappointed by the lack of class A drugs and glamour models - but hey, you can't have everything...

Fear

On the fourth day of the mountaineering course, our guide thought we were doing pretty well (as we all have a bit of experience in rock climbing) and agreed to let us try one of the most famous winter climbing routes on Ben Nevis, called Tower Ridge. Andy, one of the guys on the course with me had been keen to do it right from the start.

We were joined by a second guide on the day, and being as Graham had retired on day two (due to a sprained ankle on the walk-out), we had three of us to two instructors.

We started early and ascended the side of Ben Nevis towards the start of the route where we roped up. I was on the end of a rope of three (our guide, The Nurse and myself) with Andy and the other instructor following behind. We donned crampons, harnesses, helmets, extra layers and armed ourselves with our ice axes. The weather was good and it was 9am, leaving us plenty of time to tackle the route.

The climbing was not too hard, though I wasn't fully used to jamming axes into cracks and putting my full weight on them and there were a couple of hard bits of climbing near the beginning. All in all we made pretty good ground up until about midday or so.

The View from the Bottom of the Second Climbing Pitch

The difficulty then came that we got stuck behind a really slow moving group of four and as there was no option to overtake on the route - we had to queue to climb the different sections behind them. We must have waited nearly two hours to complete a traverse and a climb up to the top of the 'little tower'. 

The traverse was scary - I had previously thought that I wasn't at all scared of heights up until that point. But with just a few crampon points separating me from a couple of hundred feet of drop below me - I was more than a little nervous. Here is a photo of the traverse courtesy of a photo stolen from the internet (spot the footprints):

Then it all started to get a little worse. The party in front of us held us up so much that our guides told us that we would have to walk down in the dark ... then they told us we would have to finish the climb in the dark. All in all - we climbed for over 3 hours in the dark!

Just Before We Crossed Tower Gap - The Nurse, and above that - our guide

The hardest point of the tower ridge route comes near the end. Basically you have to cross an extremely narrow, extremely exposed walkway into a hole known as the 'Tower Gap', before climbing out up to the top.

The issue here is that I was roped to the back of a group of three, so I couldn't move forwards until The Nurse in front of me was able to move up enough to pull the rope tight. The Nurse spent a total of 10 minutes navigating the Tower Gap whilst I stood with my feet together and my knees shaking on the narrow walkway ... in the dark. Here is a picture of the walkway in the light that I managed to steal:

Although I was roped in and safe - the fear was pretty much building in me from here. Next I had to climb down into the gap and back out of the other side. It would have been a tricky climb in the summer with a pair of climbing boots and the sun-shining. In the dark - it was much worse. Especially seeing as just as I was climbing into the hole - my head torch broke! 

I kept having to take my gloves off (which were essentially ice-balls by this point) to press the button to get the torch to work again and as soon as I put them back on again, the torch would switch off.

I swore ... lots. At one point the head torch went off as I was straddling the gap with one foot either side and one glove half on trying to hook my axe onto a piece of rock quite far above my head. I can honestly say thats the most scared I have ever been. I cacked myself.

I finished the climb short roped to the nurse (about 1m behind him) so that I could make use of his head-torch light) and we walked 2 hours bac down to the car - to get there for about ten o'clock.

It was a brilliant experience though. While I was climbing, all I was thinking was 'mountaineering is crap!', but afterwards - the feeling was pretty great.

A Hughes in Australia

I am just about to set off up to Scotland for the winter mountaineering course I have been harping on about. I have various kinds of implements for bashing holes in the ground, a zillion different types of 'warm layer' and took a wicked trip to the supermarket in which I tried to buy all of the food that had the highest calorie count per gram I could find!

Anyway the upshot of this is that I wont be blogging for a while until I return (hopefuly with some good photos). So in the meantime I leave you with the third video installment of 'Pillock Conquors the World'. For parts 1 and 2 see here and here.

The Misadventures of Lucky 'Little Bugger' Hughes - The Unfortunate Childhood Dog

I clearly remember being around 10 years old and sitting in the car as my mum drove me up South Lane. 

I asked 'can I have a guinea pig for my birthday?' 

She replied 'would you rather have a dog?'. 

This memory has obviously stuck with me because it was one of the most exciting surprises of my entire childhood. Offering a small child the option of a dog over a guinea pig is a bit like serving up a lobster dish when a visitor asks for a digestive biscuit to dunk in their tea.

Obviously at the time I didn't realise that this was a con job. My parents were planning on replacing the family dog 'Abby' anyway, regardless of my annual birthday plea. It didn't really matter either way to me.

So, off we went to the dog pound in Huddersfield one weekend around my birthday. I remember this being a little traumatic - looking at all of the dogs lined up in cages looking folorn. 

Most distressing of all were the little pieces of paper attached to the cages with the termination dates of the poor creatures.

One dog in particular, was very energetic. We were allowed in to see him and he immediately jumped up at us and ran in circles around my legs. He was a little black mongrel with quite a pretty face, but the most unfortunate body you have ever seen!

His head was about a foot off the ground and connected to these awkward looking bowed front legs. He had a long body and a bug bushy (frantically wagging) tail which arched almost in a full circle so that it rested on his back. They told me he was six months old. 

To this day I have no real clue what breeds were in him, but whatever he was - it didn't look natural.

I think this was pretty much the first dog that we saw, and as we were leaving his cage thing, I turned and looked at his little piece of paper. It said he only had until the Monday after the weekend before he was to be terminated.

'I want that one' I exclaimed stubbornly. My mum knew what I was up to. 

'Are you sure you really want that one, and are not just saying you do because of what it says on the label?'

'No I definitely want that one' I protested.

And thats the one that we got. Of course, I did choose him because of the imminent date of his 'elimination', but thats all water under the bridge now. I named him 'Lucky' (oh how I rued that name in later years) in light of his lucky escape.

I don't really know whether he was lucky or unfortunate throughout his life, but he certainly was energetic and had some eventful times. Within one week of getting him I contributed to him breaking his hind leg at the tennis club by pulling his lead too hard and sending him into a river where he landed on a rock. I can clearly remember his sad little face now. He licked by hand while my friends ran for help. He was a good friend for a boy to have.

He bore a metal pin in his leg which gave him a limp to the end of his days. Not that it really slowed him down. In fact the limp was probably exacerbated by the number of near misses (and hits!) he took from cars in the street...

....for Lucky was pretty much un-trainable...

...or to be more precise, he was untrained. I was never sure whether it was possible to train him, as to be honest as a 10 year old boy - I couldn't be bothered anyway.

He would escape out of the door (and even out of the cat flap before my dad blocked it up) as soon as there was any hint of it opening. And he would roam the streets of Holmfirth for hours looking for adventure before returning covered in mud or some other foul substance (I remember him falling in a pit full of slurry once).

We would get calls from people we knew around the surrounding areas telling us that they had sighted him, and off my dad would go to pick him up. He used to go to The Artist's house all the time when he found out where he lived.

I am pretty sure that he had a network of friends across the town who he would go and play with (probably within about a 1 mile radius), but who would be just as unsuccessful at catching him as we were.

He was also hated by a fair few people in the area. One time he ran into a garden which happened to be inhabited by one of our classmates and picked up their family rabbit. I am not sure he meant to kill it - rather just play with it. 

But kill it he did. And my classmate declared a blood feud on the poor little bugger. But he never caught little Lucky. He was too fast, his little metal enhanced leg going like the clappers as he played the 'keep away from people' game.

Another time he followed my sister onto a bus and she had to pretend that he didn't belong to us to save embarrassment as the driver shooed him off. These events happened regularly. It got pretty bad, and I do remember disowning him in the street myself a few times. 

Particularly when asked 'is that your dog? I see it around all the time?' I didn't like walking him on a lead, purely in case he was recognised and some piece of damage could be traced back to me.

I loved that dog though. In his older year he became less excitable and went to live with my dad as I left for university. He would sit on my dad's workshop floor and wouldn't stray more than 20 metres away from his side. He was probably a bit more adorable then, and certainly easier to get along with. I was quite upset when he died 4 or so years ago.

He still did have the odd little adventure in his teen years. Every once in a while he would disappear off for a few hours and my dad would find him at one of his old haunts near our old house (3 miles away).... 

Subjects I Dont Usually Talk About

I got some bad news over the weekend. A girl that used to hang around in our ‘gang’ in college died of bowel cancer last week. I only found out on facebook having lost contact with her pretty much during my university years about 10 years ago. She was only 28 years old.

When I was in college we spend an inordinately large amount of time hanging around in the kind of common room area, where there was a couple of tables pretty much devoted to those students that came from my highschool. We played a lot of cards during free period, breaks and lunchtimes and I dodged my history teacher whose class I had more than likely skived that morning (she was gutted that I still managed a B in History A-level despite my attendance record).

There was a group of guys I hung out with, most of whom I am still best friends with today, other of which I have lost touch with over the years . We affiliated ourselves with a group of girls because of the mutual benefit of appearing less socially awkward by having friends of the opposite sex. One of my friends still goes out with one of those girls 10 years later.

One thing we would do was to meet up in town for our regular jaunts to either Visage or Beyond Beach Babylon or whatever other nightclub happened to be letting in underage drinkers. In those days I used to take £20 out with me and get thoroughly sloshed on Caffreys (it doesn’t taste like proper beer) and Southern Comfort (it doesn’t taste like proper spirits) in the Welly and Flares and still be able to pay for my club entry and a taxi ride home.

This particular girl was one of the group I hung about in. She was one of the (if not THE) friendliest and smiliest people I ever knew. The type that are actually 100% nice. You know them, there aren’t that many around.

She was the kind of person who would be extremely upset if she ever found out that she had offended someone, and would be completely incapable of ever bitching about anyone behind their back (there are very few women who fit in that bracket). She always made me smile whenever I spoke with her.

She was also a little more troubled than your average teenager (not that you would know if when you first met her). She had a form of manic depression which only really seemed to manifest itself in public at times when she had alcohol. Even a bit of alcohol. She would get upset and drunk really quickly. I forget how many times we must have carried her out of places, comforted her, bought her coke and told her it was vodka and coke, defended her from over-aggressive revellers or bouncers.

She wouldn’t remember what had happened the next day and would see alcohol as her only escape (causing her to drink more).

This problem led her on to incidents which I am not going to go into. She ever showed evidence of this to anyone during her everyday life. She was polite, pretty, fun to be around, well loved.

I noticed she had about 280 friends on facebook – I don’t think I know 280 people! It just goes to show the impact she had on the world. I scrolled back through her profile and saw that she was still posting humorous updated about losing her phone in the laundry, even when she was in hospital.

Her premature death shook me a little. Out of the 30 or 40 people I counted as my acquaintances and friends at college, she is the third to have died. One through a car accident and two through cancer. All of them people who I admired in some way. Added to that, my housemate Mark who helped bring Lucy and I together also passed away prematurely.

But I knew this girl a little better than the others and it all seems a little more unfair due to the sadness I know she had during her life.

4 Boasts

What an absolutely crappy week this has been. I have been sinking beneath an ever growing mountain of work with a constant stream of people hassling me for things I haven't managed to do yet.

On Tuesday morning I came down stairs to find a magpie on my living room. Bloody big thing it was! The cat was chasing it around to no avail (being as it was bigger than the cat). It must have got in through the cat flap. I finally managed to get the thing out of the patio door (but not before it shat down our curtains) after about 10 minutes of struggle - and get myself off to work.

Lucy informed me that it is bad luck to see a lone magpie (something I was not aware of) and this rang true the next day when I crashed my car on a roundabout I have crossed a thousand times (incidentally, for the last 18 months I had been referring to it as 'the roundabout of death'). Then I spent the whole morning trying to figure out (via about 10 phone calls) who the bloody insurers were for my company car (even our finance director didn't know) as it had just changed the previous week.

But hey, I have managed to line up quite a few interesting bits of time off in the next six months. Each and every one of which I am excited about for different reasons.

In February I will be undertaking a 5 day winter mountaineering course. I recently sold my kidney on eBay to pay for boots, crampons and goretex jackets and am very excited about putting them to good use! I got the following email through from the course instructor today:

"Tower Ridge is a route that I would choose for the course but its a long route, so you will need to still be fit enough by day 4-5 of the course in order to go for it. Try to do as much airobic training bettween now and your arrival." I was hoping to get through it on strength of mind alone. I didnt realise I needed fitness!!

I was seconds from posting up a picture of Tower Ridge and then realised that both my mum and Lucy read this blog and after viewing the pictures - If I post them up I may not be allowed to go!

In May I am heading to Lake Garda and the Dolomite in Italy with Lucy, my friend The Nurse and his other half. He is my regular climbing buddy and we are going to tackle some via ferratta routes before retiring to the lake for some relaxation (and maybe a visit or two to Milan / Verona / Venica)

The best way I can describe Via Ferrata is that its like mountaineering or climbing but with fixed wires and ladders. We did some of it in a past visit to the Tatras in 2007.

In July we do the Hadrians Walk in aid of the Joseph Salmon Trust. I have been enstrusted with preparations and leadership of Team Bandicoot. We are going to be a small team (I am hoping for between 12 and 15 people), but we should get on great and there is nothing I love more than romping through the countryside in the sunshine. Conversely to the Pennine Way last year - we will also get some good nights sleep in hostels rather than tents which will be welcome for most (though secretly I would rather camp).

In late July / August, Lucy and I will be heading to Lebannon for a week - for a wedding in Beirut! This is somewhere we would probably not have chosen to visit (as there are so many places in the world we want to go), but I am really looking forward to it and it will be really interesting to get an inside view of such a different culture.

Apparently we will be spending some of our time in a small border village where we have to get signed in and out. The hills are supposed to be amazing here too, but the warnings about land-mines have kind of put me off somewhat.

So really I cant complain.

Also I just spent half an hour blogging when I was supposed to be working.

A Hughes in Iran

Ok, so my blog posts appear to be following a bit of a theme (you can see the last post on the subject here), but I really like this bit of the film, with the red bus traveling across all kinds of dangerous mountain passes. It seems to pretty much capture the spirit of the adventure.

Plus I got 7 comments on the last post, which is pretty spectacular for me, given that I pretty much never post comments on other peoples blogs (though I do read them!). I am one of those annoying people who sneaks silently through blog posts, keeping myself informed, but never giving my hand away (or at least thats how I like to think of myself).

Blogging time is going to be pretty short in the coming weeks, given that I have just worked all weekend and am most likely going to have to do the same next weekend. I have some good stories all banked up in my mind that I want to transfer to paper, but am having trouble finding time and motivation to spit them all out.

Also, when is a guy supposed to climb god dammit!

Anyway, here is the video. I particularly like the bit about leaving the engine of the bus permanently running to stop diesel and oil freezing.

p.s. For information Clive, mentioned in the first sentence is my uncle.

Snow

This Christmas I got a brand spanking new set of crampons for a mountaineering course I am doing in Scotland in February. Given that we have had an unusually large amount of snow recently, I wanted to go and try them out in the hills and I am glad I did!

The main problem with the idea was actually getting to any kind of hills being as many of the passes in the Peak District are closed at the moment. I managed to make it as far a Ladybower reservoir (with a bit of wheel spinning) and did a few miles over Wym Hill (i jut looked at the map for the most contour lines close together). 

It was pretty cold (I think around -3 deg C). But being as I had all my gear together for the course - it was not too bad.

I took a few pictures too (though they did no kind of justice to the actual views):

I particularly like the sheep which had been burying its face in the snow:

A Hughes in Afghanistan

I haven't had much time for blogging recently as it has been a pretty hectic Christmas travelling all over the place from Solihull to Holmfirth to Leeds to Sheffield back to Holmfirth and to Sheffield again. Coupled with a couple of trips out and some nightmare new year sales visits to the hellish shopping centre just a small trip from the house. If only I were XXL or XS I would save so much money.

All in all its been a good Christmas I have to say. I have had some excellent climbing sessions and got the opportunity to try out my new crampons in the snow on Mam Tor in the Peak District and went walking with friends and an excellent night out in Sheffield for new year. Maybe Christmas isn't so bad.

One of the things I got from my Dad when I went up to see him was a working DVD (I previously had a faulty one) of 'Pillock Conquors the World', the story of how he travelled on a double decker bus from England to Australia with 9 guys who formed the band 'The Philanderers' when he was younger than I am now. You may have heard me mention it previously.

The footage I find most interesting in the film is the bits where they are traveling parts of the world which would be completely un-crossable in todays political climate. Such as eastern Iran, Afghanistan and the infamous Khyber Pass

At present the Khyber Pass is an area of conflict between the Taliban and the Pakistani Government. The Philanderers drove straight through it in a bright red bus!

This little piece of video shows the passage of the group through Kabul. A prize (consisting of respect) to any non-related person who can identify my dad.