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'