Writer’s block
What? Surely those shorts are worth a whole blog to themselves!?
Yes, ok there have perhaps been some interesting activities (and purchases) that I could have written about, but it’s not that simple. You see, I like to write humorous accounts of things we have been doing. However, I just haven’t been able to plug into my inner Spike Milligan.
Older (and likely only British) readers will know of Spike. For those who don’t, he is a comedy legend (now deceased). I read all 9 of the books in his war memoirs trilogy (a great writer, but terrible at counting). I read the first when I was 16 and have read each one again and again. Even now, (mumble)ty years later, they never fail to make me laugh out loud.
Random woman photobombs photo in a vain attempt to get the story back on track.
Looking down into France from the summit of Tuca de Salvaguardia (2,736m)
Meanwhile, back on the subject… I blame the mountains and my “recovery” from long covid for this serious lack of writing. So keen am I to catch up on 16 months of feeling bloomin’ awful that I am bouncing around the mountains like a marmot with a firecracker up its jacksy (forgive me for the image this may leave indelibly printed in your brain).
Every day Mrs P and I head out with one goal in mind, to have fun.
Every evening we get back to the van (Gandalf - surely you know that by now!?), shower, cook, eat and then, all ‘funned’ out, we pass out. The next day we get up and do it all over again. It’s great, but it’s…. tries to think of polite word… fails… kackering!
Back in the days of my blog Gandalfontour I could do all that, happily scribbling my blog late into the night, often till after midnight and still find the energy to get up at 7am and start all over.
Am I getting old? Nah! Just keener on sleep. It’s one of the unfortunate lasting legacies of long covid. My ability to survive on what I used to consider to be a healthy 7-7.5 hrs sleep a night has gone. I seem to need 8-9 hrs. This means that once Mrs, Don’t even consider saying it’s because I’m old, P potters off to bed at her usual 9pm, I am rarely too far behind.
Mrs P steadfastly having fun on the Via Ferrata de Sacs, Benasque. Spanish Pyrenees
I can’t see a firecracker
This means that the blog suffers. Can I sue? I doubt it…
Oh hang on… I must just answer this call.
Me: Hello?
Automated Voice Recording (AVR): Hello…
Me: Oh, hi. I…
AVR: …have you been involved in a Global Pandemic that wasn’t your fault?…
Me: Funny you should ask, I was just…
AVR: …if so, do you realise you could be in line for a 4 figure payout?…
Me: Really? That’s great I…
AVR: …Simply press 9 on your keypad and we will connect you with one of our dedicated team. We guarantee to provide you with…
Click!
They hung up? Such a shame. I fancied a bit of false hope?
If you look closely you will see Mrs P under my foot (it’s usually the other way round)
So, today’s blog consists of me wittering on whilst showing you some pretty, but entirely unrelated, pictures of Mrs P and I having a rather splendid, if somewhat tiring, time.
Mrs P proves that she can follow instructions (don’t tell her she’s facing the wrong way).
Rough translation: “A long way up and steep. Why are you even here?”
Are we there yet?
I think it was worth the effort - Neil fails to improve the view of the Maladeta (3,312m)
Now, does anyone know the name of a good solicitor?
