Albert clung to the ledge by his fingertips wondering why he had thought this climbing trip to the Lakes had seemed such a good idea.
It all began over a glass of rum one fine Spring evening when Albert had decided that he would benefit from a bit of exercise. Now when I say a glass of rum I don't mean a glass of rum; what I mean is best part of a bottle, Albert not being a chap inclined to do things by half. In fact the only halves Albert drank were the top halves of pints on his way to the bottom of the glass. Anyway, I digress; there was Albert sitting in his local contemplating his total lack of fitness and thinking that some fresh air and exercise would be just the ticket. The last time Albert had taken any exercise had been sometime in the last Century, the last Millennium in fact so to say that he was not at the peak of his fitness would be something of an understatement.
He decide therefore that a walk in the Lakeland Fells would be a good start. Now, any sensible person in Albert's state would have started off gently and progressed to greater things a little at a time. We aren't, however talking about any sensible person we are talking about Albert. So foregoing a stroll along the beach and perhaps a wander up a small Lakeland Fell Albert went straight to the point and decided upon Helvellyn as his starter.
Weeks passed, howdy weeks, and Albert was still in contemplation mode until finally gently spurred or shall we say goaded by the gentle ribbing (merciless abuse) of his drinking companions he finally bit the bullet and named the fateful day. Not that he imagined that it would be fateful at the time. So on the dull Saturday of an August Bank Holiday weekend Albert climbed into his rusty van and set off on his adventure, Albert pulled into the car park of a pub at the foot of his target and decided that he deserved some light refreshment before his trek commenced. This light refreshment consisted of three pints of Old Peculier which one might think is a very peculiar light refreshment for someone who a) was undertaking the first steps of his new fitness regime, b) had driven to his destination and was planning on driving back and c) was about to attempt one of the hardest fell walks in the Lake District and one would be correct.
Suitably refreshed off our hero went in his ancient walking gear of 30 year old boots and equally venerable walking trousers and flannel shirt. We might note at this point that Albert had decided to forgo such frivolities as a coat, map, compass, food or water considering that they would only slow him down.
Albert sauntered the half mile from the pub to the fell feeling highly encouraged by his light refreshments and the thought of his new regime getting off to such a good start. This mild euphoria lasted until he rounded a bend and came slap bang up to what appeared to Albert to be the North Face of the Eiger looming out of the gloom. Ah, the gloom; I may have neglected to tell you that what with the drive to the Lake District and his refreshment break time had somewhat crept up on Albert and although it was Summer and the evening should be light this was an English Summer and as is traditional for a Bank Holiday weekend the day was dull and dank.
Nothing daunted off Albert went up the fell, up and up he went, each ridge line seeming like it should be the top only to laugh in his face and present him with a still steeper stage to conquer. As he climbed Albert became more and more tired and disoriented until finally the inevitable happened and Albert slipped in some loose rocks and tumbled over the edge of a not inconsiderable cliff. Which is where we came in with Albert hanging by his fingertips wondering why he had thought this climbing trip to the Lakes had seemed such a good idea.
The end.
Peace and Love, ttfn. x
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