5. Oh no, is it happening already?

I knew there was a possibility this could happen, but I wasn't expecting it to happen quite so early into my trial retirement period. Today is Thursday 23rd April and I'm thoroughly enjoying myself, or am I?

Let me give you some context (but first, make yourself a cuppa as this is quite a long entry, although it also has extra pictures in, too. You're welcome).

1. The context (some of which was in blog entry No. 4)

For several years, anxiety played a not-insignificant part in my working life (usually for good, but sometimes for bad), which occasionally cast a shadow over my personal life, too. Nothing dramatic, but enough for my wife to comment from time-to-time that I was clearly withdrawn in my own thoughts plus my posture was of someone closed-off. Sometimes I'd just not sleep well and I looked/felt very fatigued in the morning. 

I first recall feeling like it in mid-2019, and it has come and gone ever since. It was probably why I liked 'adrenaline' projects - where there's a burning platform - as they gave me the thrill of achievement with anxiety actually helping me continually drive forwards. As examples:

* The Co-op Bank years ago, when the FCA were asking for weekly updates on a problem that I was subsequently asked to lead a team to fix. Happy days, Lee McNabb and Krystian Williams.

* A race to the finish line on GDPR by a company that had initially under-resourced the work. Happyish days, Nick Passman?

* The recent finance system replacement project that had already spent 82% of its budget without reaching an agreed design, let alone to build/test/train/implement anything. I was brought onboard to rescue it, and loved it (even happier days and far too many people to mention).

Now, given my last contracted working day was Thursday 2nd April, one might expect such anxiety to fade away pretty quickly, right? Wrong. 

On Sunday 12th April, I felt that 'Sunday evening' anxiety again. I think it was because I knew I had two hour-long calls with 'work' booked for Thursday 16th, as part of an agreed handover plan. That was further compounded by a poor nights' sleep on Wednesday 15th, after reading an email from a different university that required me to prep for a call booked for the following Monday (19th, as mentioned in blog entry no. 4 - you really should be taking notes or memorising these gems). The sensation of "Risk mitigation? Familiar territory. Resource constraints and key inter-related dependencies? Been there, got the t-shirt," was comforting in a weird way, and made my brain flip back into work-mode. 

Thing is, after those calls, I felt a huge wave of relief that I didn't want to get sucked back into work. I didn't find myself yearning for those familiar 8:30am daily calls, or 10 hours sat in front of a laptop with Microsoft Teams dominating my calendar. So, on Sunday the 19th April, for the first time I can recall in the last 7-8 years, I only thought about how lovely my week ahead was going to be. Oh, this is going to be GREAT!!

2. A new sensation

If 'Fate' is reading this, don't take the p*** after I've pressed 'publish' for this entry! Irony is not your most endearing characteristic.

This week started with me feeling lighter:

* In my mind. I now have dreams about typically abnormal stuff (fighting aliens that look like flying squids, telling Jenna Ortega there are other days in the week not just Wednesday, or scoring the winning goal for Tottenham - a flying volley - but falling out of bed doing so, literally), rather than being awake into the wee hours, thinking about potentially missing deadlines or things being out of control.

* Hopefully, albeit slowly, with my weight. Loved my two 7:30am sessions at the gym. I'm trying to get into a twice-weekly routine, although it's not a regular thing just yet, but at that time of the week, it's virtually empty after the 6:15am rush. It also currently gives me time to listen to the almost published draft of my third audio book (coming to all sorts of outlets near you, very soon).

Unsubtle sales pitch

I'm also able to write regularly. Not necessarily frequently, but certainly regularly, as well as getting to see my grandsons. The dog gets more walks on the 5 days he doesn't go to a doggy play care. My wife is grateful because the household chores she hates the most get done, dinner is ready for her 4 evenings a week, and every other Wednesday is now dedicated to just the two of us. My nonagenarian mum gets more of me, too, although I'm cautious I don't turn into her daily chauffeur for everything and anything. 

But wait, there's something else on my mind. 

Yesterday afternoon, I started to feel anxious and I didn't know why. By the time I went to bed, I found myself asking do I actually need anxiety in my life in order to function well? Is it a fundamental element of my personality? My brain went into overdrive - was I getting anxious about a lack of anxiety? I've still got one more invoice to be paid for the contract, so my revenue stream hasn't evaporated yet, therefore I'm not in the situation I'm going to be in for... gulp... the rest of my life!  

It felt like there was no time to fit in gardening, to increase the frequency of writing, to add new and fun activities to my days, like playing padel... but wait: is this me trying start this brand new chapter of my life using the old rules, rather than viewing it as a brand new story. Is that the real problem? 

I guess I'll keep reflecting and thinking about all of this as I continue to try to enjoy spring and summer, as I await the final pension numbers, and then take a good look at life in September 2026; to decide if my contracting career is well and truly behind me. 

I'm pleased to announce that when I awoke this morning, I wasn't anywhere near as anxious, so let's see if it was just a 'senior moment'. Yes, I'll find time for new things and not simply try to 'fill my days'. I'll find my new purpose and my new structure, and maybe try to find some way to put some anxiety back into life, one way or the other, if that's what I need, to function.

Thanks for taking the time to read this. See you next week?

4. A day trip and Pandora's Box!

After 16 months of pretty intensive work, I am grateful to be able to trial retirement. Thing is, whenever I take my foot off the gas, my body and mind seem to be both grateful and vindictive. 

On the one hand, it says 'thank you for slowing down', but at the same time I start to get aches and pains as the time pressure, general anxiety, and my own ridiculous standards fade into the background. Still, it's been a busy ol' week.   

1. That Monday morning feeling.

This week included my first non-working-Monday (Easter Monday didn't count), and yet I still experienced that same sense of nervous anticipation at 6pm on Sunday. Wasn't I supposed to be smirking with a degree of self-satisfaction that should make even me feel sick, sometime about now? Or was it because of something else? I previewed the week ahead:

- Monday would be dog-walking twice, laundry day, making beef casserole (slow cooker - a kitchen appliance, not a reflection on my skill and pace), and some pottering about.

- On Tuesday I'd be taking the 8:53am train down to campus. Not to work, but to take a bunch of lovely people out for lunch AND to celebrate one of them starting a new job outside the university. As it was, the pub was shut, so we decided to sit outside a vegan café and scoff vegan-filled bagels - they were very nice! Conversation flowed, lots of laughter, and London City Airport air traffic control deserves a bonus because they managed to drown out Cindy SIX TIMES just as she started to talk.

I'd post an AI image of the group photo, but one of the team specifically asked me not to, so I won't (even though it would have been great).

- Wednesday was for painting. I needed to put on a second coat at my eldest's, and I'd take the dog out for two walks. I'd also allocate some time to finish reading a book.

- Thursday should be my dedicated writing day, but I had work-related calls in the diary as part of my handover commitment to the programme director.

Now it actually is Thursday as I write this blog entry, and it's been a weird sort of day because of a lack of sleep last night. Let me explain.

2. Pandora's Box?

Last week, I had some fab feedback from a friend - Sam in Cheshire - who'd read the last blog entry and felt compelled to email me. See below. 

"I felt all the same feelings last April, when I stopped work. I felt absolutely in control and powerful for about 30 days, but was then struck by an overwhelming panic. My career has been such a huge part of who I am. My friends are still working and most are several years younger than me.

I felt agoraphobic! So much time and whilst the weather was delightful and I had lots of plans, the days started to feel like they had no order. I lost hours and couldn't understand why. I hit the gym, I had a few breaks away, and I had the cleanest cupboards in Cheshire, but, after six months, the recruitment contacts started to ask, "What next? Surely not retirement? I have a great opportunity for you!"

Whilst it was wonderful to see that she recognised the initial steps in my journey were the same as hers, it also made me wonder when/if that moment of reflection/panic might hit me. Well, that moment came a step closer yesterday - Wednesday - when, at around 9pm, I read an email and browsed through some attachments from an organisation that knew first-hand about my exploits leading a team to successfully recover a Finance System replacement project, in 2025. 

I'd promised to do so BEFORE I even knew there might be a retirement opportunity, given the COO had asked me personally. "Sure, I'll dedicate a day for free," I said, thinking it was a great idea to possibly pitch for some work. Well, despite logging off at 10pm last night and going to bed at 10:40pm, it took my brain over two hours to stop chatting to me. 

"What might that risk mitigation on page 4 entail?" and that's 11pm come and gone.

"How would I approach it if my assumptions about that statement, presumably instigated by the supplier, were true, given I've had experience of that supplier?" It's now 11:30pm, so I might as well get up and make myself a hot chocolate. 

"Could the core of the old project team get together again, or wouldn't that be possible?" There goes midnight.

"What sort of budget might it need?" Enough! It's 12:45am and I'm back upstairs, trying to get to sleep.

I have a follow-up call on Monday and then that's my free-time commitment finished. Surely it won't lead to anything.

 

3. Silence has never seemed so noisy

Do you ever get that feeling that you're neither awake but also not properly asleep? Welcome to the day after the Easter bank holiday weekend; a weekend that started with me feeling the in-between status; moving from work to retirement.

1. Before the bank holiday weekend

The news came through on Thursday evening that one of the pension funds still hadn't responded to the request for final numbers from my financial advisor, so, at 2am, my mind decided to work overtime on all the possible scenarios. It was not a good nights' sleep. 

* Shall I go back to work straight away, because this retirement malarkey is for old folk, not me? 

* Getting up at 4am almost every Tuesday for 2 years wasn't that bad, was it? Sleep-walking through Wednesday (which usually included a minimum of 9 Teams meetings) was fun, right? 

* Getting that Monday-morning-feeling around 6pm on a Sunday evening didn't actually spoil anything: I mean who needs 2 full days of rest and family fun? 

* What if I'm bored and rudderless by June? 

* What if it rains every day throughout summer and I'm stuck inside? 

* Might as well be talking to people and avoid bankruptcy and destitution!

Not the best mix, but thinking about scenarios is... sorry, was part of my every day job. I'd developed skills and had experiences over the previous 20 years that meant companies paid me to make plans, assess scenarios, and ensure risk mitigations were in place. Starting from a negative point of view and working my way out of it was an essential element of that career, so it's hardly surprising my attention turned to 'what if' scenarios outside of work. Can't turn off that sort of brilliance 

2. During the bank holiday

Suddenly it was Good Friday and I looked like I hadn't slept for days, but help came from a rather surprising quarter. The time? 1:46pm. The location? A hairdresser's chair in a town close to where we live. The other key person in this situation? A usually cheeky lady called Corey. 

Ordinarily, we'd have a bit of banter and try to keep the laughter decibels down (Marge from number 37 is overly protective of her peace and quiet whilst having her roots done, apparently), but, for the first 15 minutes, there was no laughter. Corey noticed a change in my usual cheeky-chappy demeanour, and reacted to it:

---------------------------------------- 

"What's up?" she asked. (Hardly a Sigmund Freud-inspired statement, but this is a personal blog).

"Just got a few things on my mind," I replied. (Hey, I heard you roll your eyes at the simplicity of the conversation. Bite your tongue and just keep reading: that's the last time I'll warn you).

"Like what?"

---------------------------------------- 

Anyway, 20 minutes later I felt I had some clarity, significantly shorter hair, AND my wife had paid. I was happy with all 3 outcomes. We drove home (my wife and I, not Corey and I - keep up) discussing a few key questions and agreeing to some actions. An email here and a 'contact form' there, all because my conundrum was framed perfectly by Corey:

"How much do you want to retire? Enough to make some lifestyle choices, or only if your lifestyle doesn't change?" she asked, illustrating her question with the very contrasting decisions her parents made. 

Clever sod.

  

3. And now?

We're told the answer to everything is '42', but the answer to my immediate mental conundrum wasn't '42, it was 'sod it'. I have made enquiries about some of my financial options, I've negotiated with my brain to trial retirement for 150 days, and decided to throw myself into it; albeit frugally. I even bought a paper diary and mapped out the 'month to a page' for April through June. JEEPERS, I'll be busy.

Frugality - now there's a subjective definition. 

The first and immediate change is to switch from my usual carefree approach to buying things. 

* Yes, those new outdoor tops do look nice, and 2-3 new ones would be a great addition to the 20 sweaters, fleeces, and mid-layers I probably already own, but do I need them?

* Wouldn't it be lovely to add HBO to the streaming services we already have, but no. 

* Do we really need two cars?

The only decadent purchases so far this month are an old-style receptionist's telephone for my soon-to-be revamped home office, and two tubs of dried mealworms (if you need to ask, it's bird food for the garden feeders, and yes they'll be weaned off them over the next 3-4 weeks as berries and seeds are naturally provided in the garden, and nearby).

For now, I'm happy to embrace whatever the next 150 days brings, knowing nothing is ever certain apart from life this very instant. At least the sun is shining, there are lots of birds in the garden, the dog is racing around after its squeaky ball, and I'm feeling a little more at peace.

I mean, what could possibly go wrong?

2. Planning for my first day of 'freedom'!

Nice to see you. Thanks for popping back for Episode 2, where I start to reflect on the things people say to you when they know you're retiring.

1. "You will have time to do all the things you couldn't before."

In less than one week, I will have finished (apart from a bit of ad hoc help I'm offering throughout April if my replacement needs to ask me some questions). I'm not sure how life will feel/be going forwards, but there will be changes to several things and I've got 4 working days left to resolve it in my head:

- I'll have no structure to my day. Microsoft ruddy Outlook held an iron-like grip on my weekdays for 90% of the 45 years of working, with the other 10% focused on looking for a new contract; hoping for the chance to be shackled by another clients' Microsoft Outlook. 

Do I pay for a post-retirement licence for Outlook or go back to my previous favourite of pen and paper? I'll probably get a pocket diary and a desk-top year planner, unless they simply remind me of how little structure there is in my retirement.

- Guilt. As pleased as my wife is for me, it's also a new experience for her. Twice a week I'll still drop her at the train station, but after that? She'll know I'm at home most of the time, whereas she's still be working, or is it that I'll know I'm at home most of the time but she's still working? Is it my guilt that could eat away at me? 

- Spoilt for choice? Okay, so I can now go to the gym twice a week and play padel at least once a fortnight, but then I also need to make sure the house is tidy and the wash basket is empty... plus there's dinner to make at least 3 times a week. I know I also promised my eldest I'd do some decorating, and of course there's writing. Spoilt for choice? Maybe I'm not going to have any free time!  

- "So, if you're retiring does that mean the next book will be ready this year?" A friend and colleague asked me that last week. Don't get me wrong, I think he likes my books and is keen to see the next one, but it's mainly because in DEADLINE and HELL HATH NO FURY, there was a character named after him and he's keen to know if he returns. By the way, the next trilogy will be a little darker, so I need a new writer image. A little less 'happy Norwegian trawler captain', but not quite as dark the ghoulish version underneath it. 

I'm sure Justin Robert Price will sort something fantastic, given he's designed 3 of the book covers used/coming up shortly, and he has some great photos that Mark Skeet took. I just hope the trilogy continues to show improvements in my writing for lovely folks like this lot (this is grid number 4 of 7 I've been able to populate with THE DEBT book selfies).

Is it a worry, Pete McG, that your cartoon image looks remarkably like your actual photo?

- Take a massage course. As I type this, my wife popped into my study; her back and one of her shoulder blades are aching. She was sat on a bench in the kitchen a couple of days this week, working, because her study/home office is getting a major overhaul - no pun intended. I'm okay at easing some of her aches and pains, but maybe it's not a bad idea? I do have an irrational fear though that they'll make me practice on fat, sweaty men with body odour, as it's unlikely that Eiza Gonzalez regularly volunteers as a massage client at the Grimethorpe Working Men's Club's NVQ evening class. 

2. "Look after yourself. You don't want to retire after all these years and then drop dead."

In the classic comedy series, Fawlty Towers, the 12th and final ever episode was called 'Basil the Rat', and there's a moment where Basil turns to his wife and says, "Can't we get you on Mastermind, Sybil? Next contestant; Mrs Sybil Fawlty from Torquay. Specialist subject - the bleeding obvious." 

That quote sums up the silent thought behind my fake smile when someone pretty-much said what the title quote is, last month. I intend to ease myself back into better shape, albeit I've never been someone who goes to the gym simply because it's good for you. I always needed a fundraising challenge as my end goal, my reason for training, thus my transformation from a 40-year old blob who struggled to get to the dessert counter at Pizza Hut, into a 50-year-old finely-honed athlete that made it to the North Pole (among other things). Sadly, the 50-year-old has turned into a bit of a 60-year-old blob, but I'll get there. 

3. "You've got loads of money, You'll be fine."

Retirement means a fixed income. Yes, there will be a couple of tax-free lump sums to make my wife and I feel the world is temporarily our oyster. It will soon become the 'security stash', just in case the dishwasher breaks down or someone in the family needs an emergency loan.

Oh, what a first-world-problem! 

It's an income and it's certainly enough to be okay (even with a mortgage still to pay). It's not as if we'll need food stamps or a ration book, and sure; popping into Waterstones or Darling Reads to browse will become a birthday joy rather than an ad hoc 'why the hell not', but we are so very lucky to have had the opportunity to work hard and earn a living wage. It's more than some people have had the chance to do. 

Maybe I need to stop worrying about our future life and find something to focus on. Something that still needs my brain, but doesn't guzzle money. There was one idea I've had for years (great logo design work from Howard Rushfirth by the way, as always). I wonder if there's any mileage in it still? Hmm, something for me to mull over, now I have time to do so. 

Right, that's it for this blog entry. This is my final weekend where there's a Monday morning feeling to come. If you need me once we hit April, you'll find me in a corner of my study (see below for a cartoon interpretation of a photo of it); reading and researching for one of my upcoming books or reading one of the twenty books I've bought; telling Mrs M I'm saving them for retirement. Or maybe I'll be plotting Project Footprint (or dreaming about it - it is a very comfy chair). 

1. On the verge of a big decision

Welcome back, or simply 'welcome' if this is your first time visiting this blog.

The entries on here used to be about my personal journey as I prepared for various fundraising challenges back in the 2010's, but life is about to take a new twist. Hopefully it's a positive one - retirement - but there is a rollercoaster ahead if you believe what the experts say.

1. Today is Saturday 21st March 2026.

Right now, I'm weary. Weary as hell. I've been self-employed for almost 25 years (after a fairly interesting corporate employment history) and the last two assignments have drained me. One of them was also my crowning glory as a project lead, but it was still draining, and now I'll also be doing work for the third Sunday out of four. I've simply had enough. 

I thought I had a few more years of hard slog to go before retirement, but a recent unplanned review brought a pleasant surprise. In fact, on my way to an appointment to the doctors a couple of Fridays' ago, I'd go so far as to say I wanted to both laugh and cry with relief that I might be able to stop work, completely. Of course, once the initial euphoria faded, I had to be sure. After 3 hours of checking, re-checking, splashing water on my face, drinking another coffee and then re-re-checking, it still seemed viable.

Years ago, when I was an employee of various companies, I was lucky enough to get what's known as a final salary pension. Those of you under 40, please open a new tab and Google it (or whatever search engine you prefer), then spit feathers. I've had several offers over the last 10 years to 'buy me out' of them from the pension funds themselves, but final salary pensions are pure gold! Someone I've now spoken to (a qualified financial advisor, not 'Bob' down the bookies) is doing a final check, but it's looking positive, so I've decided to look into the new personal journey that lies ahead.

2. What lies ahead

According to some guy on YouTube who looked sensible, dressed what M&S is now calling 'sharp casual', and spoke in a soft, educated voice (so bound to be true, right?), I have 4 stages to go through:

Stage 1 - holiday mode. This is when you wake up smiling, listen to the cars of those setting off for work, and then smile even wider. Apparently, it can last up to a year, but then the lack of purpose starts to loom and weekdays and weekends begin to blur. Thankfully, or rather sadly for her, my wife will still be working, so smiling should be limited to a short, sympathetic smile of guilt. Yes, she's a lot younger than me (AI don't lie in this case).

Stage 2 - Loss and lost. A friend of mine once told me he wasn't looking forward to retirement, as he had a dedicated work ethic (as did his father) all his life and viewed retirement as possibly the risk of sitting in a chair to gently rot. Another guy I know has been retired a few years and does a 30-40 mile bike ride every morning before tending to his bees and... I don't know... I must ask him what else he does, beyond applying chamois cream to what must be a tough-as-leather crotch.  

Stage 3 - Trial and error. You start to fill your time with things you like, or might like. Maybe this is the time you decide retirement isn't for you and go work part-time in a call centre, a supermarket, or setting up an evening course at the local community college to teach old ladies how to use an iPad.

Stage 4 - Reinvent and revitalise. You've tried things, but maybe customers dialling the call centre drove you to distraction using 'like' as a frequent filler word and your manager told you to stop acting like Miriam Margolyes correcting Will.I.Am (you either understand that reference or you don't). The main thing is you start to refine what success in retirement actually feels like.

Stage 5 - the end. No, not death! I mean you get to the end of your quest and retirement becomes something you embrace.

3. As the narration on Adam West's 'Batman' always used to say...

So, if you want to see how the rollercoaster ride goes, you're in the right place. See you again in a few weeks ('Same time, same channel, to see if Batman can escape The Penguin's deadly trap') which is also when I hope to confirm retirement AND be entering into my holiday mode.

My thanks to ChatGPT for creating most of the images.

Not for all the tea in China (part 1)

1. Introduction.

The Director nodded cautiously; seemingly in agreement, but not quite committing to the initiative in a way that would allow us to move forward at the pace we desired. His team had not missed that important distinction, but they too seemed pleased we had progressed and avoided his 'right to veto'; which was the primary objective of the update.

We all smiled and thanked each other for a constructive session; promising to keep the other Executive stakeholders up to speed. Everyone rose from their chairs ... except me. I tried, but I felt a tell-tale twinge and the strength in my lower back muscles momentarily vanished.

I braced my arms and pushed my hips forward a couple of millimetres; engaging my core, mid-back muscles and glu-max, to take the strain. This allowed me to ease out of the chair. It was all invisible and seamless to my fellow attendees, but it wasn't the first time it had happened that week.

For the previous 6 weeks there had been occasions when I'd woken up at 4 or 5am; thinking whether I should continue to commit my body to completing the Magnificent 7 UK, but by the time I'd got out of bed and was heading to work, my head had said "Yeah, of course I should. Bring it on".

That is, until yesterday morning.

And so, on the morning of Saturday 10th December, my head started to listen to my body and I took the decision to pull out of 6 of the 7 challenges in The Magnificent 7 UK. 

2. WTF or the voice of understanding?

The decision seemed so easy once I'd made it; almost a relief. The same relief I felt when I finally decided to sell Manor Farm House back in 2009; to eliminate the risk I faced in the financial crisis.

A self-inflicted pressure had been lifted, but was soon followed by a dangerous cocktail of guilt, the feeling I'd given up and the question of how others would react to my decision, after so much build-up for the event.

- What the hell do you mean you're not doing it? Man-up!
- I demand my money back.
- Oh you're such a failure.
- Hah, never thought you could do it.

I had a burning desire to email people and let them know: sponsors, charities, participants, suppliers such as AHOY and iPowerboat ... and of course other friends who have been great supporters over the last 6 years.

Twenty eight people and companies contacted and slowly but surely my phone started to beep with emails and messages. My hand quivered with nerves, in case the first replies meant the reaction was negative. I should have known that I had nothing to worry about thus far.

Whilst a couple of sponsors wanted their money refunding (and totally understandably), most participants were not only supportive, but went so far as to swap onto the one remaining challenge; tell me to keep their deposit and give it to a charity or simply tell me they knew how hard a decision it must have been to take.

Of all the responses, as kind as they all were, it was the one from a charity that moved me the most (albeit several other people said similar things) and boy, did it move me:

"Health and family come first. No-one should do anything that puts those at risk. You have done amazing things that charities have benefitted greatly from. It's now time for you to think about your own personal health and making this decision, whilst I know was probably difficult, is the right thing to do."

Another email added "Fully understand ... that point in life when you either recognise your strengths/limitations or you become an arse. Everyone gets older; there are very few that get wiser."

And other responses came in; asking if the Yorkshire 3 Peaks walk could still go ahead (as a fun event, with others joining the Great Wall of China team on their reunion hike). How could I say no, but that's where I have to draw the line ... so maybe you could say I'm not doing 5 of the 7.


3. Happier times ahead and happy times behind me.

The one challenge I'm still using to fundraise from the original Magnificent 7 UK is The Capital Tour - over 600 miles on the 7-seat circular bike.

It's a dream I've had since 2013 and something I want to say the following about: if you do nothing else then I ask EVERYONE that I know to please help me make this final adventure a successful finale to my challenges.

I have invested a lot of time, money and even spilled blood to achieve what I've achieved over the last 6 years. Lots and lots of people have been involved in my adventures and, between us, we've raised almost £110 000, but I still want to make the last one the best ever!

I'll share more info with you in 'Not for all the tea in China (part 2)'; including a look back at the training ride with the team from Communisis and remembering the amazing Great Wall of China Trek. Until then, thanks for your continued understanding and I'll hope to be able to look back at all my adventures this time next year.

Until then I'm having fun with the new type of challenge in my life - planning and arranging things for others, such as Jon Newall's #Lockyers2London hike - one of maybe a few challenges I won't be taking part in, but I'd still like to be involved in.

It's a sad sort of blog entry, but then a new chapter beckons in life. Time to look forward with no regrets: knowing the past is full of wonderful memories. After all of these (from 2009-2016) ......

..... there's just one more to go!

Sleep tight x

'A Head for Heights' Goes Outdoors

1.   Introduction.

Let’s face it; at some time or other in your life you’ve found yourself in a psychologically uncomfortable situation and it only hit you when you realised you were ‘stuck’.

Of course that’s a little different than willingly putting yourself in a very uncomfortable situation, which is what this tale is about: feeling you’ll be … well, potentially scared stupid … but still proceeding with the plan. So let’s talk about heights.

I can confidently recall NEVER EVER climbing a tree, or even scaling a wall that was above waist-height during my younger years, whereas some of my friends would scale a 10ft tree without any apparent pause for thought … or any obvious studious reflection on the latest risk assessment article in ‘Junior Health & Safety Fanatics Monthly’.

I wonder if that was a fear that stopped me climbing, or that by not climbing I created the longer term fear? Anyway, whichever way round it was/is, I’ve somewhat foolishly thrown myself (Editor’s note – is that really the word you want to use?) into planning the 175m climb up the North Pinnacle Ridge of Tryfan, on June 21^st 2017.

2.   Acrophobia; me?

It’s not so much that I hate heights; rather that I don’t like the idea of falling from them, even if I’m supposedly attached to a secure belay rope and (as my outdoor climbing instructor Tom Prestwich said) wouldn’t be going anywhere, even if I slipped. Well, maybe I’d fall a couple of feet until the safety line became taut and suspended my substantial frame in mid-air (or as my body swung into the rock face).

Easy for him to say, as he confidently leads our first outdoor climb on a 15 metre rock at Almscliffe; putting in safety clamps as he goes, but it begs the question: why would anyone put themselves into such a situation? More of that later, but here’s a photo of Tom starting to climb, to break up the monotony.

BREAKING NEWS (Editor’s note – Really; you want to use the term ‘breaking’ now?) Geoff Major, ageing Yorkshire acrophobic, completes his ‘climbing for beginners’ course at The Leeds Wall.

First step completed, insofar as I know how to tie a knot; how to belay and I can climb a Grade 4 and a Grade 4+ all the way up to 12 metres, without vomiting or uncontrollably relieving myself.

I prefer it when I know someone has the rope taut on belay (whereas on the auto-belay you have to make that leap of faith without any sense of the rope being secure. In fact it takes a couple of seconds for that comforting whirring sound of the brake to kick in). A couple of weeks ago I actually wrapped the auto-belay line around my lower forearm, to give myself the feeling of a tight rope … only to find that when it actually did tighten on the machine, it bruised my skin and hurt like crap for an hour.

Still, I’d passed the first step and soon it was time to consider climbing outdoors: something which, strangely, didn’t seem to faze me as much as the idea of my first climb indoors. It was at that point Tom P tried to explain just how different the experience was climbing outside, but that’s a bit like trying to explain to someone what coping with chickenpox is like if they’ve never had it. Before we move onto that though, here are some reflections on the whole climbing challenge.

1 - A Head for Heights video clip

So let’s return the theme of the video and this blog; the fear of heights versus the commitment to climb a small mountain.

3.   And so outdoors.

It’s late August and Tom P has plans for both Andy Smith and I (a new-to-rock-climbing buddy who has all the natural ability of a mountain goat and sinews like coils of steel). We agreed to meet at Almscliffe and, wanting to get a feel of the whole environment without looking scared, I arrived 30 minutes before they did.

At first sight it seemed quite moderate and not at all scary. I could see people (including children of perhaps 12 years of age) on top of the rock without any climbing gear and, apparently, enjoying the warm summer evening and the spectacular views.

My confidence didn’t exactly soar but I was pleased I’d gotten there early and was in fine fettle when Tom arrived with all his gear clanking over his shoulder. Tom is an excellent climbing coach and moderates well between enthusiastic confidence-building words of encouragement, with concerned and conscious awareness of my first-time flaws. 

Well, he does that MOST of the time but he did nickname me ‘death trap’ when I attached the carabiner incorrectly. Andy arrived a little later (albeit we knew he was coming as the manly growl of his car could be heard from several hundred yards away) and joined us at the foot of the first climb; thankfully telling Tom he thought that I had attached it as we’d been taught … but I think he was being supportive rather than totally truthful.

Tom asked me to 'tie-on' and belay him up, ensuring I was well positioned to catch his shoulders if he fell in the first 10ft of the climb (just his shoulders, rather than attempt to catch his whole 6ft 5ins frame). With his long legs he seemingly stretched up and over ridges and outcrops that I planned to use several ladders to circumnavigate.

Slowly he ascended; bending round corners and apparently grasping at hand-holds I’d need a microscope to see and a vice to hold on to. There were a couple of tricky points on the climb which, unsurprisingly, I failed to overcome when it was my turn to ascend. Andy managed to get up on his first attempt but I failed again at exactly the same point on my second attempt; so we turned our sights to a slightly easier climb.

The 'mountain goat' stretches to traverse the rock face

Tom told us the 2^nd route was slightly easier than Tryfan (whereas the first route was slightly harder) … and then he struggled to get up the first few feet. Encouraging (not) but

I watched intently as firstly he and then Andy climbed the route. A few things to look out for but I was reasonably confident that I would get up this climb or die trying (Editor’s note – That’s it; I’m resigning).

As the sun started to descend on the horizon, I tied-on and began the climb. The first few feet were a bit tricky, but it was more about confidence in my leg power and hand-holds than it was about my actual ability.

A quarter of the way up; halfway up (this was going reasonably well); three-quarters of the way up and then … stuck. Not literally (despite the new and wholly inaccurate nickname I got of ‘ass wedge’ when I used my natural physical qualities to balance between two rocks) but psychologically. Not only couldn’t I see any obvious footholds or handholds within easy reach, but fear suddenly engulfed my brain and suffocated my desire (never mind my ability) to move. It felt totally unnatural!

I felt trapped: unable to ascend, but irrationally fearing I couldn’t descend and would be stuck there forever. Tom shouted down wise words of encouragement, telling me not to look for handholds or a way up, but just take a short break. Could he sense the panic inside me; could he see me freezing up … or was it the cursing and loud proclamations about being stuck that gave me away?

I took Tom’s advice and paused; not so much for thought but the very opposite: to empty my mind and forget I was apparently stuck. It was time to give myself a good talking to, as I was determined not to turn into a quivering wreck and die a painful death of exposure, humiliation and insect bites (Ex-Editor scoffs in derision).

I then re-gathered my thoughts and, rather than calmly composing myself and returning to the task in hand, I angrily shouted at myself “Come on you %&^ @£$”£$!!” (yeah, you’ve heard me mumble those words before, Becci Skelton). Much merriment from above and below me and a shout of “Steady on; that’s a bit harsh”, but (as it always does) it worked and I began to move; but with purpose and confidence this time.

Yes, it was starting to get that dark!

Within 30 seconds I was at the top and happy to belly-flop over the crest of the rock (I’m not convinced, but let’s assume that’s a technical term): happy to roll onto terra firma and even happier NOT to look back over the edge – that idea really did frighten me.

4.   So what did that teach me?

Number 1 – I can climb.

Number 2 – I can’t climb well and need to practise a lot.

Number 3 – Rubber underpants seem to be unnecessary (as vouched for by the people below me) but perhaps a technically easier but far higher climb is a logical next step.

So first step and second step completed: just another 175 000 steps to go.