I am daunted by the large pile of unopened mail which stares at me with a glint of spite in its eye, from where it squats, just across the desk from my seat. Is that a plume of icy cloud being blown Himalaya style from your crest, up where the air is thin? We are not getting on well, you and I. We are not friends, and will not waste the effort in pretending to be so. So what are you? Are you invitations, bills? Are you requests for money; the sly arm-twist to the conscience in apology's clothing. Are you interested, in me, or are you interested in what I might be able to do for you?
The waste bin yawns; bored with watching me dither. "It's very easy to drop the whole lot in my mouth". I project this sentiment and pretend that the bin is my alter-ego. Just who do I think I'm kidding?
I've just returned from the longest holiday ... ever. At least it seems that way.
Sardinia - Bling City, where the money's so pretty, see the paps and their billionaires play. More scrilla than sense, but I'm sat on the fence; I'm glad I'll be flying away; it's getting like St Tropez.
Ibiza was fun; not quite the health hazard that I've come to expect. Still, I saw a sunrise or two - without managing to poison myself. "Get some sleep" the little alarm voice whispered. It was fun with kids, big swims and a little cheeky rosé.
Sailing: Split to Venice; stopping off along the way at little one-goat sea-towns with a fish restaurant, a lazy dog and three legged cat. The water there is so beautiful it makes you want to swim for hours; when you look down through 20 metres of it, you could be flying - it's so clear. However, it only takes one big fat jellyfish to spoil the party.
Still, I'm back now; brown fading to beige; the football season upon us already. A wind of change is blowing. I haven't read Andy's book; probably won't - it'll never be as much fun as being there through it all.
It's time for me to start thinking about getting it together to do some ... STUFF. Yep, work and stuff. Git m'self t'gether. It's gonna be ... tuff an' ruff an' blinding when it's up and running ... one envelope at a time.
I'm beginning to understand the process of mental preparation it takes before the commencement of an attempt to reach the summit of Everest. Because right now I feel like I've finally made it to the South Col from the Khumbu Icefall; I'm not even in "the death zone" and the pulmonary oedema's kicking in. I anticipate trouble at the Hilary Step.
here endeth Simon LeBlog part the 4th