Let There be Rock

A short drive and a walk takes Chris, Steve and I out to a nice long stretch of mountain top quartzite. I've not climbed outdoors in about three years, so pass on the gear-heavy hassle of trad climbing, and enjoy some nice bouldering around the skirt of the rock. As I'm leisurely leaning back on a firm four fingers of rock and two footholds, building confidence around the transferability of my frequent indoor climbing, I'm suddenly horrified to feel the rock crack and come away with my hand. Thankfully, the tips of two fingers retained just enough of this bastard rock for me to hastily jerk the other arm to the first thing I can grab. With confidence broken, I retreat to the ground to reassess. I got back on, and got enough done in our short session to be happy enough with my reintroduction to real rocks. I don't yet prefer them to the colourful, reliable, warm plastics of The Arch at London Bridge.

In the evening we're invited aboard the Golden Fleece, to whom we're moored alongside. By appearance, Captain Jerome is the epitome of French seamanship. I guess he's in his latter fifties. His face is deeply and coarsely wrinkled by sun, salt and impressively relentless chain smoking. He also sports a thick and only loosely tamed gray moustache which eclipses his top lip. Thicker than the moustache is his accent, but with perfect English. My own silly little beard remains untampered with since I left London. I'm not working on any style. It's just a lack of inclination to do anything at all with it. I've also wholly abandoned hair gel. Perhaps I will grow a head of long, beautiful locks, apt for both a bum and a rocker.

The Frenchman and we Anglo-Saxons, as he brands us, discuss food at length. Before we have a chance to accidentally trigger it, Jerome dive bombs into a fierce tirade about the English use of the word “tasty”. Naturally, we also cover the local politics. He points out that, whilst it is bloody good fun to ride the flag flying British bandwagon, the British are often as guilty as the Argies of unconstructive, bitchy tit-for-tat. Though that is in addition, not to the contrary of my former opinion.