Picture #1, nothing to do with big hills. Just sixteen pounds and seven ounces of pure unadultered evil guarding the house while I'm away. Who wants some? Eh? Eh?
Dearest friends and generous patrons of the Anthony Nolan Trust:
For the passively interested and the unashamedly sadistic amongst you; please find herewith a selection of photos and biographical excerpts detailing the travails and ignominies of altitude hypoxia, tropical illness, trench foot, vertigo, nicotine deprivation and Olympic-standard snoring I expect to encounter on our expedition. Hell is, indeed, other people - particularly if their name is Woodsy and you have to sleep within one hundred yards of them.
I will endeavour to post a tidbit or two on a daily basis, cellular data restrictions allowing (I'm with O2 and you'd need a satellite dish on your back half the time in Chiswick, never mind Kili). If no updates are forthcoming within a twenty-four hour period, you may assume I've been eaten by a Gnu.
Sams let herself go a bit big man!
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