Feels like I was in the middle of a bear fight today after yesterdays excursion going rock climbing. I havent had this much muschle ache in a long time but it was well worth it going south of london to climb (well, try and climb. At one part O was actually holding my foot as support and I still didnt get further than hanging like a drowsy koala bear with slippy fingers) the part of the southern sandstones called harrisons rock.
I did manage to get to the top of one but that was all I had in me. At the end I ws hanging of the top bit getting a very cinvincing feeling I was about to die. People are not meant to hang off a cliff using nothing but balance and fingers. I did survive though and fel quite proud of myself. The rest of the day I sat on a rock eating buscuits and nuts contemplating my brush with death. My dreams were filled with sequences of falling off things.
Weirdly enough I feel right up for doing it again.
Letters to my family 