"Rituals"

It's an early start for a day off. My precious bed, so warm and cosy, especially during the cold winter months needs to be left behind for another 18 hours or so as I make my way to the bathroom and stare weary eyed into the mirror hoping that the red-eyed monster I see before me will miraculously turn into something that vaguely resembles a healthy, vibrant human being.

A splash of icy cold water, that'll should do it! Open tap....gather H20 in cupped hands....throw it over face.....! Nope, that didn't work! Still look like a mongrel cross between an incurable insomniac and Kryten from Red Dwarf. Give it up Tim, you're a classic walking advert for Olay's 7 signs of ageing. (And why you shouldn't watch trash TV until 3am!)

Kitchen bound now, with only one eye open, and the other struggling to adjust to the brightly spot-lit corridor I create en-route to the Kitchen, towards that catalyst of life - The Kettle! You could blindfold me, spin me around 100 times and (after I've been sick) I'd still find the tea caddy, the semi-skimmed and a bowl of the sweet white stuff. Tetley, white with 2! The only way to wake up and prepare the mind, body, soul (and eyelids) for the day ahead.

Cuddling my favourite "meerkat" mug, (it tastes better in that one) and sporting a pair of paint-covered tracky-bottoms that lie permanently beside my bed like a loyal border collie, the sofa beckons. Carefully avoiding the empty wine glass standing precariously in the same position it was left 5 hours earlier, turn on laptop, turn on 24-hour news channel, turn on "mute" button. It's too early for voices! Even the one's in my head, who are still tucked up under the

15-tog. Time to check the weather, via the plethora of websites available to the novice walker that will indicate where the best visibility is to be found in Lakeland today. The overview indicates that the North & Eastern fells will enjoy the better of the weather today, whereas my favourite fells located in the Central and Western areas are likely to suffer lower clouds, poor visibility and a higher chance of precipitation. Call me a softy, but I'll always go for the clearer, drier option, should it present itself.

I'm walking on my own today so that will normally point me in the direction of a walk that already exists in my head as well as on the Ordnance Survey. This "safer" strategy should hopefully prevent any panic attacks should the weather turn really sour and the paths and cairns disappear into a sea of fog and monotone mayhem. Been caught out like that too many times before, and although confidence improves with experience, there's nothing quite as frightening as standing 3000ft above sea level wondering how close you are to a 500ft sheer-drop to a desolate valley bottom. The voices in the head really start shouting then, as do the bowels!

Route is chosen, so it's time to gather the inventory for the day. Tea's gone down a treat, both eyes are now open, so off to the spare room which houses the "outdoor" wardrobe. Full of every single brand of every type of outdoor gear that I've ever purchased, I'm faced with a monumental, and to be perfectly honest - a too larger choice of walking attire. Despite this, I still opt for the old favourites. I'm so brand loyal, and swap the tracky bottoms for the Black Berghaus pants and the Ronhill super skin-tight upper-body base layer. "Super skin tight?" I hear you say to yourself! Really? Are you sure Tim? Aren't you a bit...well....you know....erm "too rounded" to be wearing something like that? Oh yes I'm sure, as it's so tight it acts like a girdle around my Rioja-belly, and my highly under-utilised love handles seem to disappear altogether. So, you could say that this is a magic top, and until the day that it resembles chain-mail more than a walking top, and providing it's (moderately) clean, I will wear it at every opportunity in the fells. You never know, I might meet the girl of my dreams on a fell-top, and wouldn't want her thinking to herself how "Sweaty Baldy Chubby Chops" managed to get his strangely shaped torso up that scree!

Time to pack the rucksack. This ritual is a bit like a scaled down version of the holiday suitcase scenario us Brits are all guilty of. Come on, admit it! We pack way too much! We're only ever going to wear about 20% of the contents, but the difference here is that the un-used 80% of my pack today could save my life. Whereas those designer sky-blue jeans with a funny oriental design running down the leg you bought in the Trafford Centre, coupled with the white, cotton "Jesus shirt" are only going to make you look like a stereotypical "Brit abroad" with your red-tinged tan and sunglasses marks. There's a word to describe people like this, but I'm still hoping for a "PG" certificate for this blog so I'll refrain this time.

In to the rucksack go waterproofs, spare gloves, headscarf, and the all important "emergency kit" compromising of whistle, plasters, bandage, pain-killers, Imodium, head-torch, and a couple of those clever little hand-warming kits which heat up instantly when you press the little silver disc in the pouch. How this works I have no idea. Complicated chemical reactions apparently, but I'll go with my theory of "Witchcraft", without the broom, black cat and various limbs from an amputated newt of course!

And then it's time for the most important sack-fillers...The food and drink. Here, the choice becomes more difficult, however this is confined to a) type of soup, b) sandwich filling, and c) which chocolate bars to pack. However, the latter choice is normally determined by the special offers on display in Sainsbury's that week. Penguins and Rocky bars seem to be promoted most aggressively via the classic 2-4-1 offers, so they have found their way into the Tupperware box on most occasions recently. As for beverages, well, the Camelbak is always stocked to the brim with a sweet mix of half lucozade sport, half cordial and water. A pure 100% isotonic drinking bladder causes major fluctuations in energy levels over a long walk, and sugar-induced hysteria at times, so a little H20 soon sorted that problem. But there's still room for one more beverage. A little "treat" shall we call it, in the form of a Hip-flask. Not containing any old unwanted festive liquor though, but a good helping of Champagne Cognac. Trust me, as rewards go, there's no better. The slightest sip of this "smooth-as-a-cashmere-codpiece" nectar creates a warming effect that no chemical pouches could ever replicate. But this is reserved only for the summit. So if you want some, you've got to earn it first! What a great motivator!

One last thing to do before I set off. Another brew, but this one's "to-go" in my hideously zebra patterned thermo-mug. The kind of thing you'd expect Alan Carr to take on a camping trip to Devon. God knows where I got it, but it works, and stays firmly out of sight in the car's cup-holder.

The walk is a nigh-on perfect one. Cool conditions and pretty good visibility all around the Mardale valley. I'm off up a different type of High Street today. No Maccy D's, Greggs, River Island or Accessorize up here. No hoodie-wearing, personality-extracted chavsters, goaty-beard/tattooed men selling 5 lighters for a pound, or even under-age smokers! Just mile after mile of unadulterated fell sides, valleys and mountain tops with passers by who always extend to you a warm "Hello".

Summit reached, a quick hand kiss of the cairn, and then it's time to find a wind-break and have a spot of lunch. A quick celebratory swig from the hip flask and time to tuck in. Food up here always tastes good. The soup enlivens the soul, the sandwiches fill the void created in the stomach by the exercise, and the chilled contents of the Camelbak will always result in a deeply satisfying "Ahhhhh".

The descent always seems to be a solitary one, so when one finds oneself facing an hour of joint-crunching steps down 2000ft of fell side, one always turns on the music player of one's phone. A bit of classical will do just nicely. Nothing like Elgar's stirring "Nimrod" to make you feel at one with nature.

Back at the car, its a quick change of shoes and then the long drive home, and time to ponder and reminisce about today's walk. The sun sinks towards the uppermost land masses and the last few moments behind the wheel are as pleasurable as one could ever hope for. The body feels good after the workout, but more importantly the mind is calm, composed and rested, ready for another week at work.

Just one more tradition to finish off the day. Bathtime! Filled to the brim, radox bubbles emulating a miniature version of the foam-parties I used to frequent as a twenty-something, only this time the music is a little less "intense". A bit more classical in the background, very large glass of chilled sauvignon and then its lie back and exhale. Wonderful!

The clocks have now gone forward, spring is in the air at last and the training for Kiliman-Ronan-Keating-Jaro can now step up another gear. Lots of walks planned for Amanda, Nichola and myself, and also the possibility of meeting some fellow volunteers as we draw closer to the summer. Fundraising steps up a gear with the 2 online donation pages all ready to receive your kind sponsorship

http://www.justgiving.com/Tim-Bell and http://www.justgiving.com/Nichola-Jayne-Harrison

The facebook page http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=10150118264585221 will be updated regularly with all the latest news and it goes without saying that we're ready, we're determined, and we will climb this monstrous mountain successfully for the fantastic http://www.childrentoday.org.uk/

Thanks again for your support so far, and please stay with us. We're counting on you

Tim & the Kili-crew

Looking to the sky to save me

Ahh, back home now after enduring one of my least favourite domestic chores - The dreaded trip to the supermarket at 6pm on a Monday! It's got to be right up there with acute dental pain in terms of pleasurable experiences in life.

I don't know what it is about this particular time of day, but it never fails to be an overload on my senses, and ultimately my patience and mental sanity (what remains anyway). So, apologies in advance, but I'm going to get it off my chest, and trust me, there is a mountain-related point to this latest rant.

First hurdle to get over, is locating the generous car parking space. Not easy when drivers of certain over-sized and over-priced German saloon cars think it's their god-given right to park at a 37 degree angle to the white lines, thus having the domino effect of putting the 3 spaces either side out of sync. Now, as a Virgo, this grinds me. If you're gonna park, do it properly for Pete's sake! (Never met "Pete", but I've argued a lot on his behalf through my life). And it has to be a "generous" space as I have no intention of adding any more dints to my beloved car door than I already have. If the selfish car-door openers continue at the rate they are, mine's going to have more pimples than a post-acne teenager. You may drive a beat-up old Volvo made of cast-iron and granite, but I love my wheels and have work damned hard keeping it looking smart and blemish-free, so have a little courtesy when exiting your 2-tonne slab of steel and rust.

Once parked, it's the dangerous task of getting past the obligatory Half-Rottweiler/Half-Pitbull genetically modified mongrel that's tied up with towing-rope to the bicycle rack at the shop entrance. Wearing Axl Rose's belt around it's neck, and probably boasting an ASBO or two, this 4-legged lump of muscle, fangs and saliva will yap and omit relentless barking-based profanities at every would-be shopper entering the store until it's owner (probably not a member of the W.I) returns with a 4-pack of extra strong lager and 3 litres of value-brand cider. And what's the betting that "Tyson" will have his waterbowl topped up with snake-bite later this evening, thus amplifying the canine's aggression further still?

The shopping is by comparison, a relatively painless affair. Well, it is until Sainsbury's decide to mess with my head and have a random "re-organisation" of their store, thus completely destroying my carefully planned mission in to supermarket no-mans land. In particular, I've noticed that my favourite basket filler - King prawns, are subject to more re-locations than most foodstuffs, and next week it wouldn't surprise me at all to find them in the tinned veg section, hiding discreetly between the un-salted Petits Pois and the Fairtrade Chantenay Carrots.

The last deadly test is of course "checkout". It starts with a frantic over-taking/under-taking sprint from the Frozen Food aisle to the "Basket-only" lane (I don't do weekly "Big Shops"). Then it's ducking and weaving past all the trolley-pushers gawping lifelessly at the "end-of-aisle" promotions, wondering (for instance) if the half price Duracell batteries can truly be justified in this week's shopping budget. Once past them, it's the life or death split-decision that is :- "Which of the 2 lanes is the shortest?" Of course, the shortest doesn't necessarily mean the fastest, however I've yet to absorb this well-known fact in to my grey matter. So, once stuck in a queue which moves in glacial time, stuck behind more "faffers" who can't locate their Nectar card, and having resisted the temptation to switch lanes by stealth, one is faced with several minutes of pondering and people watching. It's at this point, that everything comes back in to perspective. Here, the sensory overload truly begins.

With my eyes tonight I can see mild panic, frustration, impatience, confusion, dis-allusion and the odd glimmer of happiness in this sea of retail hell. With my nose, I can smell fresh bread, glade plug-ins, the old man standing behind me, the young woman on her iPhone in front of me, and the faint hint of evaporated floor-cleaner emerging from besides the yellow wet floor sign located at the bottom end of the dairy aisle. But it's the sounds that stir me the most. "Beep", Arguments, "Beep", Bag-fumbling, "Beep", Tanoy announcements, "Beep", "Enter your pin please", "Beep", Tyson barking again, "Beep", "You've forgotten the Tea Bags", "Beep"........and so it goes on!

And it was precisely then, just then in this mine-field of man-made techno-noises and mildly-subdued hysteria that I'm catapulted back to just over 24 hours ago, sat on the sun-drenched slopes of Blencathra, towering above the daunting outline of Sharp Edge, listening to.........the deafeningly beautiful sound of absolute silence! There we were, 4 sweaty, muddy souls staring calmly to the west, hypnotised in to utter speechlessness by the sheer silence of this magical moment. No wind, no traffic noise, no conversation. Just pure nothingness! And it was wonderful! And for the cherry on the cake - a majestic fully-grown Raven homed in to view and the noiseless serenity was temporarily broken up by the gentle flapping noise as the black-feathered beauty flapped its wings effortlessly through the still, Cumbrian air.

Now, this was a first for me! Sure, I've enjoyed "pure silence" before. But to actually hear the beating of a bird's wings, and from about 30ft away, well, this was all new territory for me. And this isn't just about my hearing ability! (or lack of it!) Some of you well know that I'm a tad "Mutton and Jeff" and I make no secrets about that. The left side "radar" was never commissioned from day one. That's a fact! And the right one kinda works, but only to a certain degree. Perhaps it was built by the militant, striking British Leyland workers of the early 1970's? The biological equivalent of a Triumph TR-7. Looks ok, but doesn't really work on a day to day basis! Regardless of the Van Gogh undertones, I treasure what I hear, and that fleeting, beating noise will stay with me forever.

Sunday's walk was a glorious one! Four of us, all of which are committed to climbing Kilimanjaro in 2011, albeit via 2 separate organised charity treks, making our way effortlessly across the various summit ridges of this much-loved mountain. Stan and Carl are signed up to attempt Kili in July, whereas Nichola and myself have another 2 months to wait before we get our teeth and boot-treads stuck in to Africa's highest peak. Today was also Nichola's first "real" Lakeland mountain ascent, and I have to say, having previously introduced many of my non-cumbrian friends to the realities of fell-walking, "the girl done good!" The new boots she purchased no more than 24 hours prior to this ascent were strong and true, and I'm pretty sure she'll be keen to "muddy" them up again at the next given opportunity. On the descent, we soaked up a few more peaceful moments at Scales Tarn in the shadows of Sharp Edge, and here, I think Nichola truly fell in love with Lakeland.

It looks like spring has finally sprung. The days of wading through 3ft snow drifts and walking without fear of ice-induced injuries look like they're well and truly behind us. (Although I secretly adore Lakeland under a white blanket). What lies ahead is longer days, warmer temperatures and endless scope for exploring the un-spoiled corners of this great county. The training for Kili has well and truly begun!

I guess I must take the opportunity now to promote our superb charity http://www.childrentoday.org.uk/ who have been superb thus far in preparing us for the trek in September. All 3 of us doing the Kili-climb this Autumn had the pleasure of taking part in another one of their organised events in mid February, this time walking over a very different type of terrain. You'll see what I mean here

http://www.flickr.com/photos/spudda73/5495605106/in/set-72157626065538093/lightbox/

You can follow all our progress via our Facebook page http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=10150118264585221&ref=ts and of course, I'll be tweeting on a regular basis from ground level to summit-tops. So if you want to follow my regular updates, you'll find me here http://twitter.com/#!/Spudda73

Right, that's enough for tonight! Thanks for putting up with me, and whether you're doing it for charity or not, get out there and walk! It's good for the soul!

Tim & the Kili-crew