Nat managed to scrape an extra week off between changing jobs (she now gets the train to Leeds) which teamed with her remaining holiday allowance gave us 12 days to enjoy. It was all a bit last minute and after failing to book onto Lundy we weren't quite sure what to do. Europe seemed like a safe bet, after all we'd been fairly lucky in our last trip. However, the Jura looked wet and would be undeniably hard, the Verdon looked great but its so far away and Calanques?... well we were faily sure our van would be stolen, or smashed in. Or maybe both and then burnt out.

Various discussions had us leaning one way or another until a few days before where Pembroke seemed like the future. I've been working on my head, not my finger nor my core and the other trad venues all seemed to have poorer odds with regards to the weather.

Arriving in Bosherston the place felt familiar, I know where to eat, sleep and buy food and by now I'm actually getting a feel for different areas. Much in the same way as the previous trip the climbing all went well, Nat led some more and we continued pretty much where we left off. One thing we failed to do was check the firing times for Sept and as luck wouldn't have it the MOD had big plans for playing soldiers as soon as the 1st arrived (which it did), Mother Careys was an option but having now done most things at our team limit (or Natalie imposed ceiling).

We sacked it to North Wales via the Osprey project. We've driven past this a number of times before on the way to Tremadog and carried straight on, this time we chose to take a look, approximately two days after the birds had migrated. Great.
North Wales was Scorchio and a few days were spent between the Cromlech and the stream in the pass where we sat with our stinky feet in the nicely chilled water.
The last few days were spent back in Sheffield carrying out 'necessary' tasks so that Nat was happy when she started her new job today.

Tonight, complete with Man Flu (Tm), I was coerced into a session at the Works. I can honestly say I haven't had the desire to go indoors for a while and tonight was no different. The works had an unusual scene, the amount if ripped up, hungry looking storng people was frankly shocking. The women were tearing the place apart and I fell off the first problem I pulled onto (a jug romp). That pretty much set the tone for the evening. People kept interjecting with comments such as "Don't worry it'll soon come back" to which I stared back blankly. Basically everything I've been doing of late is at odds to climbing hard and bouldering. I climb statically on trad, I'm careful, considered and faff around looking for jugs that in bouldering don't necessarily exist. I've got no snap, no pop and my tendons seriously did feel like they might crackle as I pulled on anything smaller than a finger bucket. It didn't bother me all that much. Ok, I'll fully admit that I don't really like a public ass-kicking or feeling weak but it wasn't at all suprising and isn't what I'm after at the minute.

What bothered me slightly was the fact that I didn't or don't have that 'will' anymore. The will to say no to chips, beer and gin and to hang off a wooden edge repeatedly instead. To try hard, eat clean and put everything I am into climbing. I'm more psyched for enjoying other aspects of life, trying to improve at photography and reading anything I can get my hands on.

But it'll change, it'll come back one day... I think.

(Random photos stuffed in from the Hols and the weekend. Some Rubicon shots (Nige) using flash which I 'think' ended up being quite subtle)