Couple this with having to explain a good angle to a novice person on a camera [as much as to myself], who incidently also hates hieghts, so filming those sweet shots from above is out; having to concentrate on the climb in hand, ignore barking idiot dogs, & then having to reclimb everything because the batteries failed, or the light was shite, or the angle was wierd or the overhang looked flat, or the zoom was to blurred & then, to have to nurse a weakening back, caving in on average after repeating some poxy V8 I don't care about for the 12th time...I'm getting slightly mad & something vexes thee. All the holds look like jugs that could accomodate a cows ass, rather than the gnarly slopers they truly are...bloody shadows make climbs look like ladders & the perfectionist in me has his lip out...Add the fact that sand seems to climb into every conceivable corner of the human anatomy unchecked, every rock shoe toe end, sandwich, pocket, crimp & orifice & then, just as it's all about to go right, & you've got one layer of skin left on your fingers & palms, blood blisters appearing, when you have the moves wired & you're set, the fucking tide comes in!....
Taking it that the wee movie is passable at best, I now have to trundle back to Skye, fire up the computer, & learn Adobe Premier, crash-course style, to knit it all together, so I'm true for John & ScottishClimbs in time, while the sun shines outside & the dog looks at me like I'm the bastard who never takes him out. I know now, why I've never bothered filming stuff. Why I prefer to buy finger tape & other important stuff like chalk & sausage rolls in paper bags that leak fat over your clean jeans, rather than batteries for the camera, wires, tripods or Prana gear. Electronic technology has no business invading days like these, no business staring at the stone simplicity. And that's another thing. Duracell - your batteries are a pile of pish. While you're busy fleecing us out of our cunningly squandered cash, I'm trying desperatly to hang on Disintegration, my V12 roof from last year, not for me, not for my own pleasure, not becuase I'm repaired or have any real chance of re-climbing it yet, but simply for these wankers that demand footage & evidence to satisfy their own aimless meandering rhetoric. Not all of them though, a few care about it genuinely. For whatever reason, I'm breaking my back, so the least you could do is charge these batteries up enough to last longer than three fucking film shots instead of wasting your money on adverts with pink drumming rabbits going on longer than any other known brand...And while were at it, can somebody please fit my dog with an OFF switch that clunks down hard like the red cooker switch on the wall please, before I pull out his larynx. So, lets hope it all works, becuase if it fucks up tomorrow I'm going for some seriously hardcore sunbathing. I'm going to swagger up to the rock with the mat, look it up & down & ignore it on purpose. I'm going to retire, desist, pack it in, wander into lala-land, jump ship, abscond, get heat stroke, fry myself like an egg on a beach, cover myself in lard, roll in the sand & slide naked down an abrasive slab singing Halle-feckin-lujah, & become missing, presumed having a good time. Where is Pete Murray when I need him...Has the past two weeks been like wrestling alligators?...Aye something like that...