I’m wandering around in this bloody heat wearing steel toe-capped boots, canvas troosers with kneepads in them and pockets full of tools, a black t-shirt and a beard. There’s a red light flashing in the control room along with a howling siren and the message coming through is “System overload, prepare to abandon body”. That’s very easy to say, but managing a cooling out-of-body experience is difficult at best, and in front of customers very difficult to explain indeed.
With every arc that the stilsons cut through the boiling air the end seems a little closer…
Still, orange flavoured Fabs? They could well be the saviour of my summer. I’ll deal with the acid erosion on my teeth later. Even recording the telly and fast forwarding through the adverts, I can still tell what the bastards are trying to sell me. Pronamel toothpaste indeed, I’d like to bake it into a flan and feed it to them. And Iggy Pop, why must he shout loudly and look unappealing every time I want to watch Stargate or Futurama? I’d rather watch an hour long compilation of compare the meerkats than his insurance selling, sci-fi on Sky sponsoring semi-nakedness.
The biggest dilemma is for the next two days though. One route choice is 6km shorter with 1000ft more ascent than the other. What’s better to cope with in the heat? Distance probably, and the longer route isn’t in the guide books, so although it’s not as spectacular it’s something different to write up as route for the mag.
I’m going to sleep in the PHD Minim Ultra and take the Three Wire Bivi I think. If there’s a wee breeze to keep the midges away it’ll be bliss on the top at night. Trousers though, I don’t know yet. I don’t think I’ll take the same route as Wodewick has on her ascent of the er, Cobbler. I think the tick paranoia would reach fever pitch.
It’s also a last hurrah of sorts. I’ve got a maintenance contract starting at the weekend that’ll drop me off the radar for a bit. So I’m hoping to finish off the first half of 2009 with a wee flourish.