Day something-minus-zero

As you can see from the above, we successfully dragged ourselves up the mountain. Fortunately enough, apart from the final ascent, it was less of a drag than we had feared in the darkest midnights leading up to our Big Walk and more of a walking catalogue for Cotswold, mingled with games, chatter, soup and a smattering of show tunes.

I managed to get away with no more altitude sickness than a bit of shortness of breath, slight blue lips at the summit and a throbbing headache when singing show tunes, but the way the rest of our group managed to pull themselves to the top while suffering a variety of complaints, with one even hospitalised, was an inspiration. Particularly considering that PhotoShop covers a multitude of sins these days.

Many thanks to everyone who supported us, both in the UK and Africa. I have passed the charity giving target, last at £3,495, but I’m sure they wouldn’t knock a few nuggets more.

http://www.justgiving.com/Katherine-Doggrell


What we have learned:
You don’t NEED to sleep. Not really.

No-one can remember more than the chorus of any show tune.

Boot update:
All hail. No blisters, no leaks, apparently no impact on them at all. No thank-you, Mr Chap-at-the-bottom, I don’t want them cleaned.

28 days to go - one mountain down, one to go

yes, that's right, Wendy rules. Even if the shirt doesn't. Go team :)

28 days to go

With less than a month to go until The Mountain, and pretty much all the medicines/equipment/training achieved that one would allow us to be effective help in most disaster zones, we are perilously close to being prepared.

But, as I am reminded on most working days, there’s always something you can learn (and yes, maybe it is something I have already been told, in capitals, in an email) and last weekend’s equipment test at the Reading Festival (it’s what the SAS would do) was an excellent test of our mountain skills.

Now having reached twice the average age of the other attendees at the festival, I am something of a pro at the old tent-pitch. Indeed, such a pro am I that this year I pitched all our tents in the drizzle on the Thursday, before retiring to a soft, fluffy hotel for the night. Plus flag, on pole.

However, I suspect there’s a difference between lying around in a puddle of cider all night before transferring yourself to a chair in the sun, and having a hearty night’s sleep before walking for six hours.

Largely what we discovered was that yes, we will need pillows, unless we want to do our walk all Gladstone Small (where’s your neck, Gladstone?). We will also need twice as many wet wipes, and sun screen, but fewer members of The Youth asking us what Commies are.

The learning must have sunk in, because Wendy went back to Snowdon yesterday to take that bitch back on, or something, and won. I’m very proud, and jealous, and waiting for her to approve using the photo on here....



What we have learned:
A comfy sleeping mat will be key to mountain sleeping, given that we won’t have the luxury of using our own body weight in cider to get us to sleep

Apparently the insect-repelling shirt does not repel insects

Boot update:
The state of Wendy’s after Reading made me very envious indeed

46 days to go (until our flight)

Now I’m usually a bullish sort of person - I’ve rubbed the shiny balls of the one near Wall Street and everything - but I’m afraid that, as of tomorrow, I will be fully bearish. Bring on your double dip, the end is nigh.

Unusually for a commentator rather than a market maker, I can attribute the imminent economic collapse to myself. In mountain-milestone news, I have finally acquired all the bits of kit that I need. Right down to the rubble bags (I shied away from going to the vet and asking for dead-dog-bags. Largely because my vet would have charged me £20 plus a £15 consultation fee).

Last stop was Boots, for a collection of preventatives and curatives that would have had the checkout girl reaching for 999/the pop-up isolation room if they hadn’t had the good sense to install self-checkouts.

Sadly for the wider economy, it is now unlikely that I will ever go into a Millets/Cotswold/Mountain Warehouse again. Next camping event is Reading next week, but as any aficionado of festival camping will tell you, less is less. No staff for carrying things after all.

Sell, sell, sell....

What we have learned:
EVERYONE is up the mountain at the moment. The hire company has run out of sleeping bags.

Boot update:
Utterly filthy after walking in the rain on Saturday. Result.

69 days to go

As someone who spends a decent percentage of their time reporting on the world of finance, i should be able to add up. I've been on courses. I read The Economist. I have a calculator function on my computer.

It won't some as too much of a shock to those who have actually met me to learn that I am about 10 days out on my countdown. Sticky diary pages? Maybe.

More time for lunges.

What we have learned:
Nothing we didn't know, deep down

Boot update:
They stop me being able to use my toes for counting

58 days to go

I like to ride my bicycle, I like to ride my bike.

Well, I don’t, not since I had it stolen from Brighton station. And by ‘stolen’ I suspect I mean ‘removed by station staff after I decided to informally store it there'. Well you can walk everywhere in Brighton, so after I moved from London and my daily death run through the City during the morning rush hour, I had no immediate need for it.

Since we went to Wales and our attempt to use our bodies as human sponges to keep rain from the delicate slopes of Snowdon, we’ve had more mountain chums on Facebook. And more mountain chums means more exposure to what everyone else is doing training-wise.

Since the pre-mountain hot tub I have been doing more swimming, but that makes my hairdresser angry, angry, angry, despite the lovely swimming hat. And I don’t know what Zumba is, so I won’t be doing that (I also find it impossible to commit to classes at the gym. Particularly classes in front of a mirrored wall - never happened in French GCSE).

Cycling seems to be a theme though and, what with all the staycationing and people finding ways to enjoy the rich and varied countryside of the UK now they can’t got to Disney World, there are cheap bicycles available aplenty.

I’ve been in two minds about getting a bicycle - one mind which was sure it would be good for the endurance training, the other which was concerned about getting smeared across the nearest central reservation.

The answer to this is a cycle helmet, I realise this. The dilemma is similar to the reasons why so many people have dreadlocks for so long - you know where it’s going to end up and that look only worked for Sinead O’Connor.

The clincher was that, when I look on my CV, it doesn’t say ‘Page 3 model’ or even ‘optometry model’. I need the contents of my skull to work and thus feed Satan’s Animal and pay the hairdresser. I tried to avoid the worst aerodynamic multi-vent options and get a skateboard helmet, but it’s really two sides of the same hair consequence.

As a distraction, I got the most festive bike there is - and a week before Pride in Brighton. I may be able to make the money back by renting it out as a float.

What we have learned:
The temptation to become a bike path fascist is strong

Boot update:
The one place on earth they don’t work. That or the cycling terrain in the kitchen is not optimal.

68 days to go

Just call me Typhoid Mary. Well, Hepatitis A, Diptheria, Tetanus, Polio, Yellow Fever, Typhoid Mary. As time ticks closer to the hour that we will be boarding our flight (in our boots, from Heathrow, could there be greater shame. Or more possibility for people to see it and spread the world globally), our minds turn temporarily away from doing lunges and rubbing on poultices and towards paperwork.

We won’t be allowed near the mountain without two things: a Tanzania visa and a Yellow Fever certificate and in the spirit of organisation (and putting off analysing a really huge pile of Excel tables) I frolicked down to the post office with my passport and £38, then frolicked up to the doctor.

It turns out that the NHS can see you same day, same hour even, if the purpose is to ram you full of disease. I suppose it’s a pleasant change from constantly trying to prevent it. Either way they were speedy and efficient in a manner that would stun The Daily Mail, leaving me with more toxins in my arm than (insert name of pop star here - lose 10 points for ‘Pete Doherty’).



What we have learned:
Top secret NHS tip - go to the Caribbean, there are no kids there...


Boot update:
Boots? Boots? There is no room for boots in the land of paperwork