Whoa!

Pending Aged's blog I thought I'd post a picture of us together after our epic feat.....

From Shoveling Grit to Shoveling ....

A mundane practicality of life is man's need to drop a log every now and then. But while we had our own private toilet tent, complete with chemical khazi (expertly erected by Peter the Bog Porter and associates) at camp, there was a distinct lack of facilities on the trail.

And judging by the amount of bangers and mash left behind any reasonably sized off piste rock, no shortage of people getting caught short and taking what became euphemistically known as a "Countryman" (aka sending an email with attachments).

 "Did anyone else bring a shovel, or is it just me?" asked JG
"A shovel?"
"The list said shovel or trowel, so Bex packed the shovel we use for gritting the road in winter"
So, from shoveling grit in Wales to shoveling $*!% in Africa, I bet that shovel will be the talk of the valleys when it gets back home.

Oh feckin' Yes!

We made it - all of us - there's even a photo somewhere to prove it. And we're very proud of what we've achieved. After 5 days trekking we reached base camp in various states of disrepair. Mainly altitude sickness (and yes, it is as bad as everyone tells you), blisters and dodgy knees and ankles. But not being the type to be put off by such trifles, and armed with oxygen (thank gawd for the Altox), poles, down filled jackets and the most amazing team of porters, guides and helpers, we started our final assault at midnight. This was the steepest part of the week, which we crept up at 0.00001 mph, finally summitting at Gilman's Point some seven hours later. What a feeling. Probably not as bad a childbirth, but a close second! Full details of the extraordinary trip will follow. Phew!

Huge Piles and Wet Wipes for the bum

It's the day before we fly out and Chez Hipster is a buzz of activity. Gooner D has put everything in piles on the bedroom floor and is ticking things off the tick-list with almost surgical precision. Who'd have thought a saunter up some rock in Africa would need half this stuff? But then again the trek starts on an African plain in Summer, peaks at minus Christ knows what, and is hot again at the other end.

"Did you see the ten day weather forecast for the mountain" says JK "Between minus 5 and minus 10 at the top, and sunny!"
"Blimey, let's hope we don't all melt up there!" Assuming this accounts for wind-chill, this is positively balmy. We had been warned it could reach minus 32 (although it probably will at  4am, when we're half way into the final ascent).
"Have you packed?" I ask
"Not yet, have it all in piles on the floor" he says (I'm glad to see we're not the only ones who favour the 'pile it high and stuff it in' method of packing) "and there seems to be four times more stuff than I can fit into my backpack - think I overdid it on chocolate bars for the trek"
"Don't leave the chocolate, leave some clothing instead" I say "And travel in your boots"

It seems a good idea to travel in a complete walking outfit as well as your boots, just in case any luggage goes missing. And to stuff all available pockets to the brim with Walnut Whips!

Remembering another top tip - cut your toenails short - I repair to the bathroom for a clip, wondering if Hillary did his own nails or whether he and Sherpa Tenzing ritually clipped each-others at Everest base camp. Or maybe they had extensions done before they left? Having pondered the mysteries of the mountains, and with pedicure complete, I remember we need to pack our own bog rolls for the trip (two each), plus the packet of what I can only describe as 'wet wipes for your bum' that I found in Morrison's today - whatever next?

I wander into the bedroom to see by how much bigger our huge piles are than our backpacks. Unable to see the carpet, I'm guessing it's more than 4 to 1.

Hey ho! Looks like we'll be eating Walnut Whips for a fortnight when we get home.

Money, Pride and Acute Embarrassment

This is Theo - isn't he lovely! 

He's the reason we're raising money for Down Syndrome Extra 21

When I was a kid, doing a sponsored something meant trudging round reluctant friends and relatives with a form and a biro, seeking their largesse. And if that was a bit embarrassing, collect the cash afterwards felt tantamout to being caught with your skidmarked pants around your ankles in W.H. Smith's "art pamphlet" aisle. So thank Gawd for Social Media.
Setting up the Just Giving page, a piece of cake.
Letting all your mates know about it through Facebook and Linked-in, a small slice of heaven.
Getting all competitive with fellow trekkers, a bit like pissing on your own chips.

"How's the fundraising going?" I ask the boys.

"I got mine up today and it's at £1800" reports JG www.justgiving.com/john-goreing

"Mine's a slow burn" says Bobby "I've been going for a month or so, got £3500, my firm is going to match it pound for pound, and a friend of ours is organising a pub quiz for us" www.justgiving.com/Rob-ClaytonO

JK's up and running, and in one day raised more yours truly has in two weeks, mainly thanks to JG who bizarrely donated £100 of his own cash (not that we're getting all competitive - the bastards)  www.justgiving.com/john-kearney1

"I really should get mine going" says Punky, although as he has half of the Forbes' Richlist on his Blackberry, we suspect he'll do well.

For our part, our friends and family have donated a respectable £500 so far. www.justgiving.com/AlexandDi

"Guess we just don't have any rich friends" says Gooner D.
Actually we do - the trouble is they're all coming on the trek with us!

The Toad in the Hole and the nine and a half year passport.

With the trip barely a week away, we have a final get together at the Sausage and Mash cafe, to make sure we're all on the same page. Our party consists of a CEO/COO; a Chairman; a General Manager; a Finance Director; an ex film reviewer and an unemployed bloke who used to be a Corporate Liar (that's a PR to the uninitiated). Looks like a board meeting, sounds like a board meeting, Bobby's even got a notepad.

Item 1 - dinner. Toad in the Hole with Bubble and Squeak and Heinz baked beans. Bloody marvelous. I wonder if they might rustle this up on Kilimanjaro? Wouldn't that be something.

Item 2 - the checklist.
"First up - passports" says Bobby."Does everyone have one"
"Check"
"Check"
"Check"
"Check"
"Er - No" says JG "Actually runs out in November, but needs to be valid for six months"

Jesus Christ - we've fallen at the first hurdle! But why do they issue a 10 year passport if the bloody thing is only valid for 9 and a half? Why don't they just come clean and admit they're diddling you out of 5% of your money by selling you a passport that doesn't reach its sell by date. And why do we stand for it? If you'd bought some food from Tesco's and it went off before the due date, you'd take it back and give them what for - but we all just casually accept our Passports blowing up in our fridge without giving it a second thought.

 "I'm on the case" he assures us "And I do have my vaccinations certificate" I somehow doubt UK Border Control will fall for that one - unless the current Home Office policy is no-one shall pass unless we're sure they won't be a burden to the NHS.

"Has anyone had laser surgery?" asks Punky
"Me" say Gooner D (both eyeballs in fact).
"Right, well something might happen at 4000m and you could get tunnel vision"
"OK - what can I do about it?"
"Nothing really- just don't panic if it happens"

The other weird thing that happens at 4000m is Lithium batteries pack up, and if the altitude doesn't get them, the sudden change of temperature might. This gives us all grave concerns about capturing that once in a lifetime achievement. Further research concludes that we need to keep batteries inside our innermost pockets of our innermost clothing (and in our sleeping bags at night), and hope! And on the final assault, assuming we get that far, one camera is going into an underwater case, along with couple of hand-warmers. Might just do the trick.

Talking of batteries, we're investing in a solar battery charger, which sounds great, except there's no official way of attaching them to your rucksack, so some elastic bands, bulldog clips and good old-fashioned ingenuity are also being employed. Let's hope it's not cloudy when we need it.

JG and Robbie seem very keen to get medical requisities organised, so that we don't end up all bringing talcum powder but no Immodium. This seems a very sensible idea, even if it does feel like we're taking a small branch of Boots up the mountain with us.

Amid much discussion about wicking underwear, thermal trousers, toilet paper rationing, and top tips for keeping water from freezing (dose it up with Diarolyte apparently), all the remaining items on the checklist pass without incident. JK seemed to glaze over after two minutes, and so, concerned he's not going to be equipped enough, we leave him with this thought from other climbers:  "You're never going to be too warm, so go for maximum thermals and lots of layers"

Last item - haircuts and beards. Apart from Gooner D, we all have to report with a number 4 crew cut, and be clean shaven, so that we can all grow a beard on the mountain. Quite why we're going to turn up looking like a bunch of skinheads is beyond me. And why exactly do blokes hold beard-growing competitions? Answers on a postcard please.

Meeting adjourned. Next time we'll all be together will be on the plane. Assuming they allow gangs of middle-aged skinheads on board.

The miracle of Insurance

Death, Taxes and Masturbation - the three inevitabilities in all of our lives. Although these days I'd suggest  Insurance has to be added to the list. And for Kilimanjaro climbers, it's essential. So, with a sense of foreboding, I phone the insurance company to see how much this is going to cost us.

"We're climbing Kilimanjaro so I need to extend our cover" 

Gooner D corrects me "It's a trek, not a climb" 

"Any specialist equipment" says the lad from Post Office Insurance "Ropes? Crampons?"

"Nope - just blister packs, surgical supports and prayer"

"And are you sticking to recognised tourist trails"

"Absolutely - but it's at high altitude"

"There are no altitude restrictions on the policy, so as long as it's a trek not a climb and you stick to the path, you're already covered"

Feckin' hell, the computer says "Yes" - hallelujah!

   

Jabbed up!

So the visit to the Quack passed without too much hassle. At the time of writing Yellow Fever was not necessary (although this changes frequently so check), so I got away with just Typhoid and Hep A. I am already covered for Tetanus, thanks to being bitten by a (thankfully non-rabid) dog at the South Africa World Cup.  Talking of which, Rabies jabs probably a good idea for Tanzania, especially if close encounters with animals or bats expected, but we've left it too late to finish the course before we go, so will just need to be careful.  I for one have definitely learned my lesson about petting African animals and won't be doing that again. Gift - the African nurse who administered the jabbing, wearily lifted her eyes upwards and did all she could to avoid tutting when I told her about how I got bitten by a pub dog in Port Elizabeth as I tried to tickle it through an iron gate. "You might let them sleep in your beds over here" she said "But back home dogs are for hunting and protection - we leave them well alone."  Good advice, Gift. I just wish we'd had this conversation a year ago!

Welcome Back Mr and Mrs Aged H!

And what a tremendous effort for a great title...from "From South Wales to New South Wales"...that's what I call blog dedication.

The group is coming together nicely. The Aged H's are back and look to be fully prepared. JG's face by now should have got back to the shade it was before it turned that funny pink colour in the Brecons, Punky is training full on (no shocks there, the guy is a machine), and JK is over his sprained ankle, and holidayed. Mrs Backspin and I are off to the French Alps this weekend for a bit of up and down mountains and the group are having a final sit down next Thursday night to avoid the inevitable "I thought you'd brought the......", oh and a few beers.

Kilimanjaro is now looming large.

From South Wales to New South Wales - the mountain looms

Suddenly we're into the final few weeks and all is looking real. Very real indeed. We're talking 3D, HD, 1080i, better-than-the-movies Widescreen real. And as doubts about fitness levels start to creep in, Mr and Mrs Backspin (the nicest couple in England), Mr and Mrs G (the nicest couple in Wales) and the Ageing Hipster and Gooner D (the nicest couple in North London, although given the recent rioting a mile up the road from us this isn't difficult) - all decide to have a training weekend in the Brecons.

The training gets off to a flying start courtesy of Great Western Railways, who make the Backspins stand for the entire two and a half hour journey from Paddington to Newport. Fate stepped in to give them this extra workout, as they had seat reservations but were unable to gain access to their carriage. Running trains is obviously much harder than we think, after all they've been trying to get it right for more than a century and they still can't quite manage to get the train out of the station AND the people into the seats they've paid for. Still, if we had to settle for one out of the two, at least they managed to get the iron horse to run along the steel roadway and stop at the places it was meant to. Hooray for British industry!

Having survived (although Mrs B bottled it and sat on the carriage floor from Slough), we were picked up by JG and driven at high speed to the waiting pub for a decent meal and some well deserved booze. Might as well start as we mean to go on.

After a good night sleep, and a huge breakfast, we hit the hills for a brisk 2.5 hour trek, which had a higher climb than any of the planned days on Kilimanjaro. Thankfully all knees and ankles survived so well we did an even harder trek the next day. This time, despite the fact that our host's village was always in sight, so we'd always know where we were, we managed to get lost on the way down. But never mind, our trek team on Kilimanjaro will be responsible for maps and compasses, leaving us free to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. No major accidents here, except a couple of nettle stings, some blistered toes and heels, and some bruised pride as JG took an unexpected dip in a stream. Could have been worse.

The weary travellers returned to London feeling pretty confident in everyone else's ability to make the trek, with just a few nagging doubts about ourselves.

Not being the sort to let the grass grow under our feet, The Ageing Hipster and Gooner D flew to Australia the next day to visit friends and do more trekking in the North Queensland Rainforest. Specifically the Mount Sorrow Ridgewalk in Cape Tribulation. So called because, having smashed his ship to firewood on the Great Barrier Reef here, Captain Cook sent two scouts up the ridge to see what was what. They were never seen again. You'd like to think they stumbled upon a natural paradise and decided to set up home together growing exotic fruit, but historians suspect the worse.

Sorrow and Tribulation indeed, and perhaps Pain and Stupidity could also be added into the mix.  It's a 7 hour trek (3.5 there and 3.5 back) that goes from very steep to even steeper, to practically vertical, through dense, unforgiving rainforest.  For large parts we were on all-fours pulling ourselves up using trees, roots and vines.  Having hauled ourselves through this assault course we finally reach the small viewing platform, only to be joined a minute later by a local lad who had run up in 59 minutes. The bastard! And as that sank in, so did the realisation that we had get our weary legs into action and get down before the light went.

Anyone who has climbed a tree will know that going down can take as much time as coming up, and so it was. We had to retrace our steps, every single one of them, very very carefully, until, laughing in the face of Tribulation and Sorrow (possibly through joy but probably through some form of mild delerium), we made it back to the road, and even declined a lift to our campsite. Take that Mt. Sorrow!

Confident that Kilimanjaro won't throw anything like that at us, and keeping fingers crossed that we avoid yellow fever and altitude sickness, we give a cautious "Bring it on".

Next stop - the Doctors.

To Hire or not To Hire

Thinking about survival at -32 degrees really focuses the mind. The big stuff's obvious - ski-wear ain't gonna cut it, so we definitely need to get our hands on some down filled mountaineering jacket. The Africa Walking Company hire Anapurna Jackets by Mountain Equipment, which  are generally considered the dog's doo-dahs, and we're happy with that.

The boys all agree that it's best to hire one first time round and buy one if we get bitten by the mountaineering bug (although bearing in mind the jacket is filled with natural fibres and would have previously adorned umpteen sweaty, unwashed and generally "mountain filthy" bodies, I'd be amazed if it's the only bug we get be bitten by).

JK might buy his own, so he can put it on every now and then in the future to remind himself of the trek. Nice touch, and it would definitely help out with the heating bills.

Gooner D, rightfully concerned that the only sizes available for hire (M, L and XL mens) would swamp her, decides to buy herself the women's version - the Cho Oyo jacket. This turns out to be much more difficult that anticipated, with only two available on the world wide web during the Springtime - but she will never freeze at the Arsenal again.

Would-be travellers be warned, it's much easier to get this stuff in winter, so planning ahead is a good idea.

The not-so-obvious things that we also decide to hire are: 4-season sleeping bags (so we can sleep easy, knowing our tits and knackers will still be attached when we wake up), a foam mattress (so we can get some sleep in the first place - much more comfy than just the half-inch insulating mat), and walking poles.

I wasn't sure about walking poles,  but JG has severe knee-knack, mine are a bit dodgy, JK wants all the help he can get, and Cousin Ken, who has spent the last 40 years skipping up mountains on the Isle of Skye looking at Eagles, can't recommend them highly enough.  Apparently you need one for on the way up, two for on the way down.

Your knees and ankles will spend the rest of your life thanking you, but be warned, most people get so focused on where to place the poles, they forget to stop and admire the scenery. Good tip!

OUTSTANDING lunch to celebrate JG's 50th birthday at the Savoy Grill. Food, wine, cooking, FUN. Somewhat alarmingly there doesn't seem to be much going on training-wise for Kilimanjaro. JG has purchased a rowing machine but has only done a total of 8k so far (plus some hill walks). He has also developed a hacking cough. JK is thinking about starting his training "soon", but he is a naturally fit guy (and I think he's been at it really - he looked as if he'd lost weight). The Aged H looks in good nick (better now than 10 years ago IMHO) and I have no doubt that Mrs Aged will be in fine fettle cometh the day....

Backspin

Backspin here - I've been enjoying the Aged H's blog for some time now so I asked if I could have a go. After a couple of technical hitches (I don't exactly do "tech"), here we are...

I've been well up for Kili since the idea was first mooted at JK's 50th. So much so that as Aged H said, I got a mountain bike at Christmas, and a book on Kilimanjaro. To have something epic to do this year really took my fancy and although out of all of us I probably had least to do fitness wise I am cycling, running and rowing regularly, and have been for 4 months now. In fact I'm miles away! I feel full of life. Unfortunately I haven't found any mountains yet (Hertfordshire is somewhat lacking), and everybody tells me its not fitness but the altitude that'll make or break us, but nuts to that - JG is promising to take us for a weekend in the Brecon Beacons, they are quite high and it's nice being 50 with a bit of energy in any event, success or fail!

I have to say Aged and Mrs Aged (who is lovely) have organised us brilliantly thus far. JK gave us a few palpitations but finally decided he was coming and JG has bought himself a rowing machine (it's his 50th on Friday so we'll get to see first hand whether he's taken it out of the box). Punky is a tentative "yes" - his Dad died earlier in the year and it's been difficult for him to commit. We all hope he does though - this is going to be TOUGH and we'll need all the support we can get, from mates we've known for 40 years now...

Cometh the Half Century, Cometh the Climbing Prezzie

So the Ageing Hipster's 50th came, and with it a bunch of Kili related prezzies. What a great idea to plan an adventure that needs equipment as you approach this particular milestone. Everyone wants to get you something, and you have a ready made wish list. So much better than socks and a cardie - although a pair of socks did make it into the swag bag. But not any old pair, oh no - proper moutaineering ones, engineered New Zealand. Along with a bag of all day breakfast specially formulated for high altitude.

"Thanks for the socks and de-hydrated food" I say to Miss SD
"You're welcome, you bastard" comes the reply.

My favourite niece and her kids weighed in with a Camelpack - a 3.5 litre bag that holds your water and straps onto the back of the daypack. And it's got an insulated straw so the water doesn't freeze. Nice one guys!

The large but lightweight box from brother and nephew in Honk Kong (that tantalisingly arrived a week early) was torn apart on the big day to reveal a most excellent rucksack - complete with compass. And, magically the Camelpack fits it perfectly. Couldn't have worked out better if they'd tried.

Gooner D spoiled me rotten - and amongst the booty was a strap-on-the-head lamp thing. Perfect for the final ascent, which is due to start at midnight (unless we miraculously all get super-fit, in which case it starts at half past midnight).

And this particular headlamp is brilliant. It has a filter, so you can have focused or wide beam, three energy settings (called high, medium and low by the manufacturers, disproving the notion that Germans lack imagination), and an option for it to flash SOS - bloody marvelous, but let's hope we don't need that.

And last, but by no means least, a Times Concise Atlas of the World from the Backspins. This particular edition has a small mark in the middle of Tanzania on the flyleaf.  Four months to go and this is getting very exciting.

A journey of a thousand miles starts with internet research

It's  a curious fact of life that whatever journey we take we usually end up back where we started from. And the voyage of discovery into our flight options didn't shift this paradigm.

Gooner D, the World's Favourite Travel Agency, stepped up to do the research. She's good at this - very good indeed. So good that JG has previously offered to pay her to plan his holidays.  I can vouch for the many remarkable adventures that have been sorted, and the countless thousands of pounds that have been saved from the comfort of her laptop.  And so, with gusto, she cranked up the PC and got stuck in.

"I think you can go by KLM" said Bobby Backspin.
"And Air Ethiopia goes there too" I said.
Job done or so we thought. What amateurs we were!
"OK" reported Gooner D after a lot of research. "We've got BA, Air Kenya, Ethiopia, KLM, Condor and Adelweiss for short-hop - long hop (going via any combination of Frankfurt, Zurich, Amsterdam and/or Dar Es Salaam).  And Air Kenya, BA and Virgin fly to Nairobi for a short hop connection on Fly 540, Precision Air Services, Air Kenya Express and Kenya Airways - as opposed to Air Kenya)

By now I am totally confused dot com!

"Prices start from £450 if you want to spend days hanging around distant airports in 40 degrees heat waiting on connections. Or more than £2000 for KLM's Amsterdam - Kilimanjaro return"
"£2000? I thought we were in the age of cheap air travel!"
"That's if you're stupid enough to book direct. But I've found a way to book us all the way from London via Amsterdam to Kilimanjaro on KLM for about £650. Don't ask me why the additional journeys make it cheaper, but they do"

KLM suddenly becomes interesting. Very interesting indeed. As interesting as a butcher's turd to a swarm of flies in the middle of Summer.

Kenya and Ethiopia are cheaper, but, according to the noticeboards, have poor punctuality records. Worse still, if anything goes wrong you've got as much chance of getting your money back as a teenage boy has of keeping a clean sheet after he's hacked through parental control on the broadband. Eat your heart out Ryan Air.

And so, after a jaunt around the Airlines of the World, we're back to where we started from. It's KLM and everybody's happy.

We all love the price.

Gooner D likes the civilised flight times and minimal transits.

JK is very excited about the prospect of visiting an Amsterdam Coffee Shop the night before.
("At your age?" I query
"Never been to one before, could be my last chance"
Good point - you only live once).

Bobby Backspin likes the option to fly from Heathrow at the crack of dawn and meet us on the plane in Amsterdam.

I like the fact there's no changing planes at the far end - when we'll be knackered and just wanting to get there.

And we all like the fact we get back to London early in the morning.  Especially Punky, Bobby and JG, who plan can go straight into work when we land!

Altitude Sickness tablets - a Dentist's perspective

With all necessary permissions now in place, and the trip definitely a go-er, Gooner D heads to the Dentist with the feel-good factor coursing through her veins. Quite how the subject of altitude sickness cropped up in the Dentist's chair is beyond me (the surgery's only on the 4th floor after all), but it did.

"I haven't done Kilimanjaro myself, but I climb Mont Blanc quite often" said the Dentist, before offering an interesting tip. "There are two types of tablets. Diamox is the most common. It's a diuretic, so you pee a lot, and frankly it doesn't touch the sides with me. I felt like my head had been hit with an axe"

 Ouch!

"Then there's Dexamethasone" 

Now this does sound promising. It's three whole syllables longer, and more difficult to pronounce.  

"It's a steroid, so not to be taken too often, but it really works. Although it might make you go a bit puffy"

We can also hire a personal oxygen system - a cylinder of O2 with those little plastic sticky-up-the-nose things you see on ER. Think this might be a good complimentary option.

So there you have it. Diamox - where you could be up half the night with your hat in your hand, wearing the type of head usually reserved for the morning after a night that included (but was not limited to) Red Wine, Guinness, Tequila AND Black Sambucas. 

And then there's Dexamethasone. Tena's worst nightmare, but you might look all Jo Brand in your holiday snaps.

The African Walking Company supply Diamox, but Dexamethasone is prescription only. The choice is yours, best to consult your Doctor (or knowledgeable Dentist) first though.

Better than the Movies II - The Sequel

So just like the best Hollywood thriller, our emotional need plot just had to have a few final twists and turns. And this one reads like something from a teenage Rom-Com.

Wink and Candy couldn't both go to the ball-game because one of them had to sit in the porch with Baby-Bubba and Jim-Bob until the start of the fall semester.  They toss a coin and decided Candy should go with her BFFs Mary-Beth and Aleesha.
This left Wink's homie Ross floundering. "I don't wanna let my buddy down, and do I really wanna sit behind Coach in the in-zone in all that bad weather?"
"Well I ain't going to no ball game with no girls" said Bud "Suki-Lou won't like it none"
Meanwhile Zeke, Billy-Ray and Shania adopt the frontier spirit and proceed to get their pitching arms in shape. After all the show must go on.
A dark cloud descends on Smallstown Arizona and time passes .... slowly.
Finally, Candy says:"Hellz-a-boppin', we could have more fun going to the next ball-game"
"Yeah" says Mary-Beth and Aleesha "With no boys to ruin things with their a-farting and a-snoring!"
"Well waddya know!" thinks Wink. "If they ain't a-going, I guess I can go to the game after all"
"In which case Suki-Lou won't be giving it no never-mind neither" said Bud.
"And if my best bosom buddy can go, then I guess I can too" said Ross.
"You're the best wing-man in the whole wide world" says Wink
"Well that's decided" they all declare in unison "We will go the the ball game after all. Go team! Go team! Go team!"

Cue life-affirming power ballad. Roll credits.

Wow - this is better than the movies!

Ever noticed how every Hollywood movie is essentially the same scraggy old lump of meat mouldering under a slightly different gravy? They consist of two plot lines: emotional need and material goal. The emotional need is often the rediscovery of a relationship (e.g. a long lost love, the pet dinosaur you thought had perished as an egg, or your old school mates aged 49). The material goal is a conscious action undertaken by the players (e.g. to rob a bank, to defend your planet against an evil genius, to climb Kilimanjaro aged 50)

Usually, the two plots are cleverly integrated, climaxing at the same moment (heaven help us).

Invariably Act One reveals two or three initiating events, to introduce characters and plot (the boys have a lunch, they decide to climb a mountain to mark their 50ths, A Charidee will benefit).

 But Act One always closes with a complicating event.

“I can’t make the climb, but my partner and some of her friends are coming in my place” says JK a little awkwardly.

“That’s cool” says The Ageing Hipster, having missed the first bit.

“Child care issue” says Bobby Backspin

“The good news is there’s women there to keep Gooner D company” says JK  

(Not sure if he's trying to sell it to us, or make himself feel better, but Gooner D’s not worried one way or the other).

“Did he really say he’s not coming to his own 50^th birthday event, so that his partner and some of her mates can come?”  I ask off camera.

“That’s about the long and short of it.” says Gooner D

Hang on a second! Family and friends coming with us is great. Family and friends coming instead of us is just a bit odd. Not even Hollywood’s lowest budgeted, "B"-est of "B" movies would have thought of that one. End of Act One!

Act Two sees the ensemble adjust to these new problems. The emotional need plot reaches its climax, altering the material goal plot (e.g. the little furry animals get lost in the woods as night starts to fall, a distant roll of thunder is heard and it starts to get all scary, they spend the night in a cave and discover a secret world of tiny people, where they are treated as deities.  Or the supporting cast decide it won’t be the same without JK, and if he feels he can’t take the time away from the family, which is fair enough, we should find some other way of marking our half century).

By the end of Act Two, the Hollywood plot takes an unexpected twist in order for the material goal to be resolved. (e.g. Earth’s been destroyed by the Lizard Men, but it’s OK, we’ll find a new planet to colonise. Or, Jodie will be a cheerleader, despite having to live in an Oxygen bubble. We’ll just play the match in her hospital ward!). 
And then there's the British version. (JK not being there fundamentally misses the point, but sod it, if he can't get this cleared by HQ, we'll just have to go without him! )

It would be good to get Act Two resolved sooner rather than later, so we can get into Act Three (Will the crime get solved?  Will the aliens take over?  Will JG manage to sleep in a tent?)  Hollywood dictates a secret will be revealed, or some other twist will complicate the material plot one last time. Personally I hope not. In porn parlance, I prefer money shots.  I just want to get to the epilogue, that’s the bit where the characters ride off into the sunset, half way up a mountain in Africa.

Punky Paul and his MOT

Punky's much vaunted MOT was delayed by a few nerve-wracking days, because "the Professor's had to attend an emergency." I wonder what that was? Has Jordan snagged a fingernail? Did The Queen's have a touch of the vapours after seeing the guest list for the Royal Wedding? Or maybe Professor CBE is doing something useful for a change,  like attending to his NHS pro-bono work (although quite what dog biscuits have to do with it is beyond me. Perhaps he feeds them to the poor and needy at his TB clinic in the East End).

And what is Punky supposed to do now his old MOT's expired? Take himself off the road because his insurance is invalid? Who knows.

Thankfully the days go by quickly enough, and the news finally arrives. The nation can breathe a sigh of relief. Jordan has had an extension glued on. Her Majesty has had the wedding list ethnically cleansed. The oikier element have been put in their place (i.e outside the palace gates), leaving a cathederal-load of pure inbreds who all know their whats from their pardons.

And Prof CBE has given Punky the all clear - in fact he passed with flying colours. We're in!

The ethics of going up Uhuru

The only ethics usually associated with the world of high finance is that county to the north-east of London that thupplies the thtock exchange with barrow-boy traders. And the marketing industry is no better, often displaying morals that are as loose as Jordan's knicker elastic. But therein lies the difference between corporate-self and mountain climbing-self.  So while JK's predatory instinct in business would make a Great White Shark blush, and The Ageing Hipster's younger exploits would've made even Berlusconi think twice, when we scramble up the Uhuru peak we want to do so with a clear conscience.

So choosing an ethical tour operator is a priority. One that treats its people fairly, pays a decent wage and makes reasonable demands on porter and client alike.

Africa is different, there's no denying this, so expecting European standards is a mistake. But Kilimanjaro is a major industry, and Tanzania isn't exactly backwards, so there's no need to settle for anything less than professional standards of care, a well-resourced and well-manned party and decent quality equipment. After all we are attempting the highest peak in Africa - this is a serious exercise.

IMEC, an international body dedicated to improving conditions for mountain-tourism workers, has set guidelines regarding the number of guides and porters per person, and the maximum weight they should carry. They also run a special project to improve conditions for porters and guides in Africa and Nepal. I decide to get all Health and Safety on this, and make sure our Tour Operator is IMEC approved and that our party exceeds the guidelines.
  
It seems that getting an official Kilimanjaro Tour Guide's licence is easier than getting a Harvard degree from China - so a licenced operator does not mean a good one. You could be trusting life and limb to a bandit with as much regard for your life as the US Government has for your human rights.

So going into it with eyes open, and after much research, The African Walking Company is my preferred operator. They are well established, claim a high success rate, subscribe to IMEC, are very frank about the challenges and are totally flexible on routes and dates. They have three-man tents, but only put two people in them, and they set up a mess tent with proper chairs and a table for breakfast, supper and the evening chill out. We had this on the Inca Trail and it was a right touch.

More importantly, they have excellent feedback on Trip Advisor, and are recommended in Bobby Backspin's How To Climb Kilimanjaro Without Farting book. So far so good.

I also like the fact they directly employ all of the porters and guides, drawing people from different local tribes into each tour. This feels like our money will help a wider economy, and we'll get a richer experience of Tanzanian culture. It also guards against any single person effectively being guide, leader and paymaster to a bunch of his mates.

Punky's MOT is due on Jan 27th - assuming this goes well, we have a date, we have a party, we have a tour guide.

As Captain James T Kirk might say to an orgasmic Trekkie convention, we're going up Uhuru!

Happy New Year

"Happy New Year" says text from Bobby Backspin. "Got Kili book from Santa, just acquired a mountain bike and started on step machine"  Christ, he didn't waste any time! "Suggest we have conference call next week ... agenda to follow"

A conference call - now we're in business. Getting the boys together usually involves several hundred texts, a shed load of compromises and a large dollop of luck, all over a 6 week timeline. But we value the time together - so much so that it was only after suffering several years of curry nights that JG, JK and Bobby all admitted they don't actually like curry - so it's been Bangers n Mash since then (or in Bobby's case fish finger sandwiches. Marvelous. If only the S+M Cafe still did Ambrosia Cream Rice, I'd happily spend the rest of my life there).

Agenda duly arrives - 1) Punky's MOT. 2) Confirming commitment. 3) Agreeing date.  4) Route - tents v huts.  5) Kit.  6) Agree training weekend in Wales. 7) AOB.  This is uber efficiency at its German best  - I feel like I'm entering the jet set and wonder if I should dig the Cerrutti suit out especially for the occasion!

Predictably me and Bobby Backspin hit the call first. Punky and JK are fashionably late, followed by JG, who is so fashionably late it's virtually haute couture.

Punky's in for his MOT at the end of January, and he's already in training to make sure that he passes! Good lad. Fingers crossed.

Ideally we'd time the trip to reach the summit on Sept 12th, which is a full moon (the final ascent starts at midnight, climbing with torches strapped to head not as romantic). Sadly Punky has a global corporate wank-in that week, and Gooner D starts college after that, so we decide on the first week in September, as near to the full moon as we can.

Bobby Backspin confirms Crispy Backspin's not coming after all, which is a shame. It'd be nice to get to know her better, and seven's a magic number that works well on trips. Luckily JK knows a fellow dad of a Down's lad who'd like to come and raise money for the Charidee, and all agree he'd be welcome.

JG not too keen on tents, and wondered if the more comfortable huts option includes satellite TV, so he can watch the rugby World Cup. Ponce! Can't decide whether he's just taking the piss or if he really hasn't grasped what he's letting himself in for. Probably the former but decide to take a tent to Wales to give him some idea - if nothing else it'll be a laugh (as long as nobody drinks Guiness the night before).

Some discussion on routes follows, based on web research (especially the entries from the African Walking Company on www.africatravelresource.com) and Bobby's book, Kilimanjaro: the Trekker's Guide to Africa's Highest Mountain (available from all good book shops, and some crap ones as well - although I'm a tad disappointed it's not called "How to Climb Kilimanjaro Without Farting" - we were big Monty Python fans back in the day).

Two routes stand out - Rongai and Machame - these seem to offer the highest success rate for inexperienced climbers (read middle-aged fat blokes), and include an element of ascent followed by descent early on to minimise altitude sickness - so we agree to further research these and make final decision after Punky's MOT. And here endeth the first call.

Blimey, that was easy. Big decisions made, action points allocated, date of next meeting set. This conference call mullarkey's so much more efficient than Bangers n Mash - and you don't get a monumental hangover the next morning. I'm a convert.

Boy's Trip, Schmoy's Trip

"It's a boy's thing - you won't want me there" says Gooner D, rather unconvincingly. She usually says this about curry nights when she doesn't want to come.  But Kilimanjaro's a step up from Brick Lane, or even Whitechapel, so I know she really wants to.  After all, we went to the World Cup in South Africa for her 50th and had a brilliant time, despite England's best efforts to ruin it for all concerned, and we made a pact to do something equally memorable for mine.  To make her feel welcome I try to dexterously navigate that fine line between assertive and caring.

"Don't be stupid, and don't exclude yourself. You know you want to come" Not the most sensitive start, I'll grant you.  "I know it might looks like a Boys Own adventure, but everyone's welcome - the more the merrier. We'll have a great time, and it's for Charidee." That's a bit better. Sensing a softening, I go for the kill "And Crispy Backspin fancies it - it'll help her to know you're coming"
Bobby's better half interested but wavering - I wonder if she's having similar "best not to get in the way of all that male bonding" thoughts.

I'm not sure whether it was the knee in the groin opening, the we-can't-let-the-kiddies-down-now-can-we angle, or the lure of doing it for the sisterhood, but something's clicked and Gooner D is in. Great news.