Go west, old man
It's 6.30am. I'm about to leave my London flat for Gatwick, then Newark for a few weeks stay in the US. I've carry-on only, as ever, stuffed with camera gear mostly. I set my alarm for 3am to allow time to pack and, more important, riffle thru a multi-month pile of bureaucratic envelopes, selecting the ones that look like they'll cost me if I ignore to jam into my bag so that I can continue to procrastinate in the States. I'm still somewhat elated from my recent whale shark trip and some fine games of soccer (I played fine, that is) and I'm elated at the prospect of some family delights later today and Utah in a few days. A sort of glow has been cast on it all by a call last night from a very old Sherpa friend (now an eminent sirdar and mountaineer in Kathmandu) to discuss a long dreamed of expedition to Kanjiroba Himal in the far West of Nepal, a return to a moumtain I failed to make a first ascent on in 1984. So I also jammed some old rudimentary Himalayan trekking maps on top of the tax demands. Jersey, I'm on my way.