Bullshit and beer stream endlessly
In all the crowded bars
Up and down the country,
Beneath the trembling stars.
From Sligachen to Keswick,
Torridon to Land’s End,
How his helmet saved his life,
How he lost a friend.
The merits of a chalk-bag,
Two-tone tights are best,
Clean it with a tooth brush first-
I never wear a vest……………
Have you done Deaf Banana
Up by Scar-Crag-Streaky-Falls?
Tried it late last Autumn
And nearly lost my balls!
-Yeah; we did that thing last April,
The run-outs are superb!
Really spaced me out, though-
Nearly lost my nerve.
And then there’s Screaming Maisonette-
That overhang’s the worst-
Pumped me out in just five minutes,
And all my blisters burst.
My second got severe pneumonia,
From standing there all night,
While I, shit-scared but determined,
Broke my jaw and got frostbite.
What are those Winter routes like?
-Psycho’s Gully, Moron’s Wall.
-O.K, if you’ve got screws and stuff-
The chimney’s pretty small.
Did P.G. in an hour or so
But the whole thing’s pretty chossy-
You get absolutely fucking soaked
Because the rock’s all wet and mossy.
Tender Fury and Dead Monkey
Are different altogether–
No problem with protection,
Though you have to watch the weather.
With a massive drop on one side,
You edge round the jutting flake,
Following the ice-fall
Until it makes a break.
Sling a runner round the holly bush
And stretch to find the hold,
It’s down a little, narrow crack-
Then the crux is really bold.
Lever your whole body up
And kick hard with your points,
Jam your head in sideways,
And thrust at every joint.
Wriggle on your back, then
Along the bevelled terrace
To where the track turns to descend,
Down by Wrencher’s Crevice.
Bullshit and beer stream endlessly
In all the crowded bars
Up and down the country,
Beneath the trembling stars.
A thousand near-deaths are recounted,
A million thrutchy moves,
Countless desparate lunges
To mega-greasy grooves.
The finger-holds which gave way,
Loose crampons and despair...
High heroics on the rock-face,
High heroics from a chair.