Paul’s girlfriend arrives

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We had given the girls strict instruction to be ready at the hostel by 8am to head up Snowdon. We had a ridiculous 11 mile trek down to Betws-Y-Coed after our 7-8 mile hike up and down Snowdon. So it only stands to reason that I only managed to peel myself out of my first bed in 5 days by 8:15. Then wait for the girls to arrive at 8:30 and then after walking a quarter of a mile up Snowdon remember that they haven’t paid the pay and display parking fee invoking a girly run back down the mountain to remedy this before a mountain traffic warden stumbled upon the car.

Anyway we set off down the miners track, the easiest route. There had been much talk about doing the Crib Goch route but having lived that hell once I declined plus snowdon was in a permanent cloud, not great for climbing across a knife edge with 1000ft falls either side. So off up the easy miners track we went.

It was clear from the first few steps up that the girlfriend (Heather) had arrived. The car park passion from the previous night had simmered down but like a forgotten toy at a family picnic I was cast aside on a grassy mountains edge. Somewhat dejected and lonely, Sarah, unhappy with my blister banter tried to cheer me up with tales from her recent flitter down the east Vietnam Coast line. She regaled me with many a story of who she had kissed and who she hadn’t.

On flat ground Paul is king, storming ahead but when climbing mountains I really come into my own. As the guys all know now, nothing creams my corn like a steep incline first thing in the morning. We ploughed ahead making good progress. We had to stop at one point to put a plaster on Sarahs foot as she had cut it on a bath plug a few days ago… It was this kind of domestic disaster that forced Paul and I to go camping in the hills in the first place. The modern home is a hazardous place guys.

As mentioned in the previous post. Paul and I had already spent a lot of time together and our conversation and manly ways had gotten the better of us. Our usual routine when walking was to not talk for hours except when apologising for farting when the other was down wind. Then occasionally slumping into a grassy lay-bye and discussing what part of a woman’s body we find most attractive (five days away from civilisation and boobs guys!). Now we were actually walking with girls, at first I felt as though this routine had been rudely interrupted. But as we climbed higher up Snowdon and into the cloud we realised the girls were in on our level of chat too. Between talking about cake and weddings we all started to discuss which parts of our bodies were sweating most and which particular extremities were aching a great deal. Woman being anatomically different added variety to this conversation which Paul and I had been having repeatedly for 5 days.

Half way up and well into the cloud Heather revealed the contents of her child’s backpack. Surprisingly it was full of children’s treats! We all dined on things too small for our hands and Paul went a little too crazy over a delicacy named ‘fruit winders’ which he quickly started to suck into the hole in his beard where his mouth used to be. Yes. Heather had won again.

At the top of Snowdon we did the obligatory photo next to the mountain dial almost being blown off into the cloud. Then we settled into the mountain cafe and the girls produced a bevy of delights such as more plastic cheese, crisps and pork pies! Paul made sure he had secured all the fruit winders for himself.

On the descent we all hobbled down, except of course Paul. Most people start to develop a sense of self mortality around the age of 7, not Paul, not ever. He threw himself from rock to rock, bounded down the faces below Crib Goch. Leapt across crevices, dancing down snowdon with the grace of Billy Eliot and the personal hygiene of the Tasmanian devil. So we trundled on as Paul sped around and popped up behind the odd rock.

All in all snowdon took 5 hours then Paul and I headed off on the rest of our 10mile hike. We had a brief interlude with the girls (who came by car) at the pub used by the Everest mountaineers in 1953 to plan and train. We tried our best to look all serious and adventurous. I’m
not saying the Everest explorers are comparable to us but if they had been around today I’m sure they would have shaken our hands in awe and exchanged many a boob and fart joke.

The next 10 miles hurt but we made it. Only 2 days left!

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