Thursday nightis probably my favourite night of the week. I meet up with my climbing buddies in the pub, discuss the week that was and make plans for whatever the weekend has in store. Tonight was particularly good.
I rushed out of the door at about ten to eight to go and see Guy Robertson speaking about some of the climbing he's donme in Scotland and abroad. There's nothing quite like an enthusiastic climber beaming about the things thay've done, and Guy was certainly enthusiastic. And incredibly inspiring. I'd reccommmend going to see him if you ever get the opportunity.
Anyhoo, armed with buckets of Scottish Climbing Psyche® off I toddled to the pub for this weeks tales of one-arm pull ups over dodgy pegs and debates about arctic weather systems. Not only did I sort out some badass climbing fun for the weekend, but a total stranger, overhearing that I'd had no dinner, gave me a bag of crisps. And I spent most of the night talking to pretty girls too.
So now I've come home, full of the joys of human kindness to a steaming hot bowl of cock-a-leekie soup (it's nutristious, tasty AND hilariously named - result!), a spendid bit of Delrico Bandito, some Godspeed YBE! and the buzz of anticipation for the adventures of the next few days. Imagine Christmas Eve when you were eight and you get the idea.
So now it's off to catch some sleep before the mundanity of work where I will dream, as I always do at these times, of strapping myself to a bit of frosty rock in the name of fun. See you on the other side.
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