Since the age of 18 I’ve had five different handsets. Each one has slowly worked their way through the denim in my jeans.

It was late 1999 when I strolled into an Orange store, ID and Solo card at the ready, and signed up for my very first mobile contract. The handset was a special one. A Nokia 7110.

It’s often remembered as the handset that Neo dropped from a great height after a brief chat with Morpheus (this is actually false – the 7110 is a far more attractive phone than it’s younger brother, the 8110 featured in The Matrix).

The 7110 was a joy to behold. It’s most obvious feature was the spring loaded cover that shot down to reveal the backlit keyboard at the push of a button (a perfectly placed button at that – accessed with the tip of your right index finger).

At the turn of the century Nokia were the undisputed kings of mobile phone design – both software and hardware.

Colour screens were still a few years away from the mass market but the monotone screen I took home was bright, responsive and easy to navigate.

The 7110 had an innovative ‘navi-roller’ button which allowed me to easily scroll through menus and messages, editing and selecting when clicked. Smart.

It was my first introduction to what felt like a whole new language – T9 predictive text. Who would have thought that typing out a lengthy text message on a numeric keypad could be so easy?

You can always tell those that shunned T9 by the amount of text slang they use. I despised such shortcuts, and continue to do so to this day, much to the joy of my Grandma. (Incidentally, my Grandmas has appalling grammatical skills when it comes to text messaging. I think this is partly as she doesn’t know how to put a space between words or after punctuation.)

My recent research has uncovered something even more interesting about the 7110 – it was the first phone to feature WAP internet browsing. If only my 18 year old self could have known what mobile web-based delights awaited him.

My WAP connection was used heavily. Football scores, the odd slice of news and even the most woeful form of animated pornography could be viewed (you’ll have to take my word for it on the latter).

The one other thing that remains clear in my mind is a game. A game that I ended up losing a ridiculous number of hours to. Snake was a revolution. Actually, the 7110 came loaded with Snake II which had an odd shaped arena, but the basics were the same. Gaming perfection.

There are three things in my mobile history that I’m rather proud of. The first is that I’ve always had the same phone number. Secondly, I’ve always had a contract mobile, so I was never one of those kids that didn’t have any credit. Lastly, as a lover of gadgets I’m very proud to say that my very first mobile phone was a Nokia 7110.

What was your first mobile/cell phone?

I like to start the year off with a new desktop wallpaper. It’s a tradition of mine that dates all the way back to 2010.

The central theme of this years’ should be fairly obvious from the above image. Two weeks ago, in the early hours of Thursday 22nd December, a little lad named William was born. Our first child. He’s an absolute belter.

I’ve got big plans for this year but I’ve boiled my goals down to three:

1. Be a good Dad
2. Read 30 books (of which at least 15 must be works of fiction)
3. Draw every day

You can see my progress with point 2 on the right hand side of this site (from a desktop computer – this site is optimised for mobiles, don’t you know?). Titles in italics are currently being read.

From these three simple aims many more good things will come. Just you wait and see.

There are a couple of detail shots over at Flickr for anyone that might be interested.

The quote in full:

I love that there can be an art to nearly everything.
I love that geometry is ancient.
I love that Frank Lloyd Wright was shameless.
I love that the littlest things can make biggest differences, like cufflinks or a pinch of salt or just 5 minutes.
I love that some things are inexplicable, in fact more things than you’expect.
I love that no expertise is needed to appreciate a well-made thing.
This.
I love that you can pretty much always assume there is a better way.
I love that anything can seem new.
I love that a computer is referred to as a machine.
I love Chengdu and Hanoi and Lhasa.
I love that music doesn’t have to mean anything to be beautiful.
I love that there are theories about handwriting, the composition of matter, and horse racing. I love the knuckleball.
I love the lightbulb joke about how many boring people.
I love that the things worth remembering are usually the things that get remembered.
I love the moment at dusk when the F train comes out of the tunnel after Carroll St. and fills with golden sunset light and feels like a cathedral.
I love the slow motion replay.
I love the way that hat looks on you.
I love that Japanese architects deliberately inserted mistakes into their designs to appease the gods, who believe only they are perfect.
I love that the heart is a muscle.
I love the simplicity of punctuation.
I love the Radiator Building, the Queensboro Bridge, and summertime.
That perfect swing.
I love that line about how memory is like a train.
I love that anything is interesting if you look at it closely enough.
I love that even a cheap hamburger is still pretty good.

Taken from http://www.sampottsinc.com/

Change your Facebook profile picture to a cartoon character from your childhood and invite your friends to do the same. Until Monday (Dec. 6th), there should be no human faces on Facebook, but an invasion of memories! This is for a campaign against violence on children.

This is exactly as the ‘campaign’ appeared. Soon after, one by one, users started to change their profile pictures. Bananaman, Batfink and Tinkerbell. I didn’t take part, but if I had it would have probably been between Cedric Sneer or SuperTed.

The reason I didn’t join in the fun (aside from the fact that I’m a grumpy old man in the making) is that I spotted an immediate problem. One that, as a campaign, left it flawed from the start.

A friend of mine summed it up best:

If everyone who has changed their profile picture to a cartoon donated £1 to the NSPCC then that would make a real difference.

He was, of course, exactly right. Cartoons: good. Child abuse: bad. A memory can be a powerful thing, but changing your profile picture has done precisely nothing to out a stop to violence against children.

So who was the first person to start the viral status update? One tiny addition would have made a big difference. A link. Nothing more. All they needed to add was a link to a donations page to a charity such as the NSPCC.

Maybe they did. Maybe it got lost in translation, or someone forgot to copy and paste it in to their profile. Who knows?

To me, it exposed a deep flaw in the concept of Facebook, and heightened my positive view of rival social networking site Twitter. The concept of the almighty ‘retweet’ is simple yet brilliant. With the click of a button you can spread a message, link or idea (or all three) to all of your followers, in the hope that they will do the same. Wildfire.

With Facebook, it is not as easy. A thousand privacy settings keep your thoughts and feelings locked away. Great for those who like a quiet life, but rubbish when the time comes to actually get some work done.

To further compound the problem, an even more strange post started to filter through my feed:

The group asking everyone to change their profile picture to their favourite cartoon character is actually a group of paedophiles. They’re doing it because kid’s will accept their friend request faster if they see a cartoon picture. It has nothing to do with supporting child violence.

Lovely. Again, no link was given. All this did was remind me of the 2001 Brass Eye Special.

By this time, the NSPCC website was down, presumably from thousands of requests from people desperate to know whether the latest twist was true. Eventually, the charity issued a statement via Twitter saying that, whilst they had nothing to do with the campaign, they ‘welcomed the attention it had brought to the work they do’.

In reality, the debacle did nothing but cause confusion, and ended with a strange game of chinese whispers, when all that really needed to be shown was this: http://bit.ly/7sgXL

Update: This just in from Techland

The Do Lectures are a perfect examples of this. I stumbled across my first lecture earlier this week when my latest hero, Craig Mod, posted a link to a talk he performed in September. I won’t lie to you – it blew me away. I delved deeper and found a raft of talks from the same and previous years.

Each year a select group of 100 people are invited to the event in Cardigan Bay, Wales. 80 audience members and 20 speakers. Speakers are asked to talk about what they Do. Simple.

I’m still working my way through the talks but the highlight so far is the 2009 talk given by (my latest hero) Alastair Humphreys. I won’t say too much about him. In fact, I won’t say anything. Just watch the video above and I guarantee you’ll want to know more.

The day had almost arrived. The plan remained to attempt the summit of Mont Blanc, Western Europe’s highest peak, tomorrow. First up we had to reach the Tête Rousse hut which sits nervously on the edge of the Mont Blanc massif at 3167m.

After a restless nights sleep I rolled out of bed at 8am. Shower, breakfast and kit preparation. I was keen to travel as light as possible but, given that we could be in the mountains for 3 days, my bag still felt quite heavy.

Our guides (Eric and John were joined by Mikael and Stefano) at 9am. Our first stop was Les Houches cable car station which we arrived outside at about 11.30am (we’d stopped en route for food and to allow a few of the group to sort some last minute kit issues). A quick ride up saw us at about 2000m with a good days walking ahead of us.

After working our way around a scenic, green, alpine path we quickly found ourselves on the other side of a valley, and the weather changed almost instantly from clear and overcast, to cold, damp and foggy. We followed a train line up for a good hour, snow building constantly, before stopping for lunch at a cafe.

From here on things got a lot more difficult, and it was the next few hours that ultimately cost us a shot at Mont Blanc.Immediately after leaving the cafe the conditions worsened. The path became steeper, the group spread out and visibility dropped considerably. The wind was picking up and the snow started to fall heavily.

After an hour or so of walking we stopped to put our crampons on. This is easier said than done when your hands are freezing cold, but I managed eventually and soldiered on.

The path got steeper, the snow got heavier and the wind stronger still. I pulled my hood right over and zipped my coat as high as I could. At points it was like being in a sand storm. The snow lashed the exposed parts of my face but all the while I plodded on, following the footprints of the guy in front.

I remember passing a memorial which obviously represented the point where someone had been killed. We were on a particularly steep, rocky section and, at points, a metal wire was in place to aid walkers as the climbed higher. At one point I was holding the wire tightly but suddenly realised that the footprints had disappeared. After a few more steps forward I heard a cry from behind – ‘ED!!!, this way man!’ Eric had spotted me and, fortunately, I was back on track. Close call, though.

After what seemed like an age the hut appeared from the gloom. What a welcome sight! That last 3 hours had taken not just me but the guides completely by surprise. An immense amount of snow had fallen (and still continued to fall). In to the hut we went, taking off our boots, crampons and gaiters. It was an amazing place. Very basic, but I can’t tell you how much I appreciated it. Beds had been reserved for us so we dumped our bags and prepared for dinner.

The hut gradually filled up throughout the day. By about 6pm it was heaving with hungry climbers. The three course meal, packed full of all the energy and nutrition needed, did not disappoint. Beef stew with pasta. Wolfed it down in record time.

After a few more games of cards I was ready bed. John gave us the brief for the following day. You could hear the doubt in his voice. The forecast for tomorrow was still great, but so much snow had fallen he knew things would be tricky higher up, especially the infamous Grand Couloir which awaited us just minutes from the hut.

Still, we were advised to set our alarms for 3.45am. Breakfast would be at 4 at which point we would analyse the situation. I hit the hay at 9pm for what was yet another sleepless night. What did tomorrow have in store for us?

Monday 21st June 2010

My alarm didn’t even have a chance to sound. I was awake all night and switched it off at about 3.30am. Upstairs in the communal area there were a few climbers sleeping on the floor. We skilfully negotiated them and had breakfast in near-silence.

The weather was clear. I stepped outside in the pitch black and saw three incredible sights that I’ll never forget. The first was the faint outline of the huge mountain face before me. I’m a fairly small chap anyway, but I’ve never felt so tiny. Secondly, I noticed the stars. The Plough was right above and the perfectly clear, ice cold skies glistened. Finally, way, way up near the top of where we were due to climb was a wonderful sight – lights! Moving lights! Evidently some had made an even earlier start than us and had made great progress.

This final sight was relayed to John Taylor. It was obviously a good sign for us as it meant that the route could be attempted, at least to the next hut – the Goûter.

Within half an hour we were outside the Tete Rousse and ready to go. Rob and I were paired up with Italian guide Stefano and set off up an initially gentle slope. The light was just starting to appear. We were way above the clouds now, and the immense slab of rock we were about to climb could now be seen clearly. It was an incredible daunting site.

The first tricky section was the Grand Couloir. A couloir is a deep gorge or gully formation found on the side of a mountain and this one is particularly deep. We had been warned about this short, 30m section many times in the build. Today, however, we were in luck. Usually, it is dangerous due to rockfall, forcing walkers to zip across as quickly as they can. There had been so much snow, however, that the mountain (at this point at least) was relatively stable. We clipped in to the handy wire that spans the section and walked across, careful not to slip.

The next 2 hours passed in a haze of breathlessness and discomfort. It was by far and away the most physically demanding 2 hours of my life. The climb to the Gouter hut was very steep, with almost no let up for almost 800m. Stefano was a hard task master and only allowed Rob and I one proper break. On more than one occasion I found myself off balance, slipping down a steep rock face. Thankfully I had Rob behind me, and Stefano up ahead to keep me going (and, if need be, pull me up!).

Progress seemed painfully slow. I remember stopping and looking back at around the half way point. The Tete Rousse hut was miles below, which made me feel like we’d made good progress. Then I turned around and looked skywards. The Gouter was an equal distance away!

My lungs were having to work harder than they ever had done. Each step seemed harder and, with the ‘top’ only 20m away, I ploughed on. Those last few yards were so hard! The feeling upon reaching the hut was one of pure relief. It’s amazing what 30 seconds of heavy breathing can do though and, composure regained I allowed myself a small celebration.

The view was staggering. The sun had just started to illuminate the peaks around us and, almost 4000m below, you could just about make out the valley floor. I’ll never forget that moment.

Inside the Gouter hut the mood was a sombre one. Though it had not yet officially been announced we all knew that the decision had been made to abort the summit attempt. It was easy to see why – huge amounts of snow were stacked up on the slopes, just waiting to fall. The chances were that we would be fine but it wasn’t worth the risk. The Mont Blanc dream, for now at least, was over.

We spent sometime behind/above the hut and got an amazing view back to Chamonix. The guides did their best to keep spirits high by trying to create a few mini-avalnches (with some success!). Hopefully the photos I took say more than I ever could about the majesty of the scene up there. At just shy of 4000m, this would be as high as we would be going. We were just a 3 hour hike from the summit but it wasn’t to be.

The less said about the journey back down, the better. It was horrible. Slipping and sliding, we edged our way down. Even now, 3 weeks after, I can still feel the tension in my knees from the awkward descent. After another 2 hours we were back at the Tete Rousse in the glorious sunshine. Looking back at what we had just climbed gave me a great sense of satisfaction, though of course it was tinged with disappointment.

Lunch at Tete Rousse then home. We were back at the cable car by around 3pm and in the chalet now too long after. Everyone in the group was quiet. The guides had plans for the now useless following day, but all I wanted to do was go home (or drink).

The following day was spent on a via ferrata in Passy. As it turned out, it was a fantastic afternoon’s climbing and both Rob and I were glad we chose to head back out in to the hills, rather than wallow in the valley.

The following day I was back in sunny England, just in time to see the second half of England’s final group game. Missing a chunk of the World Cup was actually a massive blessing! My week away, despite the obvious disappointment, was one I’ll never forget and easily ranks amongst the most incredible experiences of my life. Mont Blanc isn’t going anywhere and I’m sure future opportunites to return will present themselves.

I’d like to also quickly say a massive message of thanks to all who sponsored and supported me in my quest to climb Mont Blanc. I will return!!!

***** Still think my efforts were worthy of sponsorship? Visit my JustGiving page to find out more about my chosen charity and to donate *****

A good nights sleep does wonders for the soul. England had drawn against Algeria the night before (luckily we weren’t able to see it as it wasn’t on free-to-air TV in France) but I couldn’t have cared less.

Today was all about acclimatisation. After breakfast we set off on foot to catch the cable car to 3842m. The view was abysmal aside from the final 42m which rises almost vertically, with the rock face of the mountain within touching distance. After hopping out of the car we walked down a series of tunnels and up a flight of stairs to the cafe.

Our guides (still John and Eric) informed us to get comfortable – the chances of getting out on the mountain today were slim. I ordered a coffee and sat down. This time I could definitely tell I was at altitude. Nothing too serious but the feeling was akin to being slightly drunk.

For a couple of hours we sat and talked about mountaineering, roping techniques and many other things. Impatience was growing and I think the guides could tell. John and Eric headed downstairs to take a look outside, telling us to be ready for the call down.

Remarkably, it came. In seconds the cafe was in turmoil as we all reached for our bags and equipment and shot downstairs to the mountain ridge exit point. We would be going in two groups, of which I would be in second, so Rob and I had another 10-15 minutes to get our harness and crampons on. Before long Eric had returned from the mist and we were on our way.

Now, this ridge is supposedly quite hairy on a clear day, with serious drops either side of a narrow path. Thankfully I was totally unaware of this. Visibility was about 10 yards so I might as well have been walking pleasantly along the beach. After 10 minutes or so of plodding along (I was at the front) we reached the rest of the gang.

Everywhere was white. Occasionally another group of climbers would lurk into view, only to disappear again soon after. Very eery. We made our way across col du Midi in search of the Refuge Cosmique. The pace was leisurely and we stopped fairly regularly to discuss the area we were in (which was, of course, littered with dangerous crevasses which our guides seemed to know the location of, thankfully). After around half an hour we arrived at the hut, de-booted and stepped inside for lunch. The hut was well stocked and the menu was tempting but I had a mountain of food in my bag so I got to work with that.

After around an hour, with the snow having started again, we got ready and headed back in to the wilderness. The glacier seemed much busier now and we followed a number of groups back to our starting point. We arrived back at the Aiguille du Midi hoping for a quick getaway but found the cable cars stranded – the weather deemed things too rough to head down. Thankfully the huge wheels started moving again after about 20 minutes and we were soon back down in Chamonix again.

What followed was arguably the most exciting point of the week: the guides now had to make a decision about our Mont Blanc summit attempt. The weather reports had been too-ing and fro-ing all week. One minutes things looked good, the next we seemed to have no chance.

Back at the chalet we all gathered in the communal area and switched off the television. John and Eric sat huddled over a mobile phone which was reading them the latest forecast. Everyone sat silent. It was in French so I hadn’t a clue what was being said and our guides didn’t give anything away. The report finished and they muttered to each other, quietly making a plan which would either make or break our hopes.

John looked up. ‘Right everyone,’ he said straight-faced, ‘I’m sorry to tell you but we’re going to have to climb to the top of that bloody mountain.’

Cheers filled the room! We were genuinely ecstatic. I’d tried to stay as hopeful as possible during the past few days but had always had that nagging feeling that we wouldn’t be getting anywhere near the top. Of course, events would transpire to deny us an attempt at the summit but for now I was deliriously happy.

Dinner, a glass of wine, then bed. I didn’t sleep well at all as the possibilities of the next two days played over in my head.

***** Still think my efforts were worthy of sponsorship? Visit my JustGiving page to find out more about my chosen charity and to donate *****

I awoke before my alarm, which is always annoying. The sound of my fellow climbers shuffling about in the dorm was too annoying to ignore (plus, I didn’t want to look lazy) so I jumped down from my bunk, pulled on my head torch and prepared to face the day.

It was still pitch black outside, but I could just about make out the shape of the surrounding, jagged peaks. I was one of the first downstairs and, after a quick trip to the freezing toilet, sat down for breakfast. A bowl of muesli was washed down with tea, bread and cheese. Just the job. The group (guides included) gradually began to wake up and discuss a variety of issues (the weather, lack of sleep and the surprisingly good taste of muesli were top of the agenda).

We filled our bottles with a special ‘Cabane d’Orny’ mountain tea, checked our kit, booted up and headed outside. The sun had made excellent progress from behind the Swiss Alps and it was clear to see that the weather forecast had been spot on – we were going to have at least 4-5 hours worth of clear skies.

When all were ready (and finished having our photos taken in front of the Swiss flag, we set off. After about 20 yards we stopped, breathless (joke!). It was crampon time. I, like most of the group, had never walked/using crampons. After clipping in we spent 10 minutes or so walking on a variety of surfaces; up and down snow and ice. A little strange at first, I soon got the hang of it and we headed off across the fresh snow.

After our first day of walking in wind, rain, snow and mist, the difference was spectacular. The sun (and bare in mind that it was about 6am) blasted us from the East. As we zig-zagged our way up a steep slope the views got better and better. We were way above the clouds and off in the distance huge peaks burst through the incoming weather front. Despite the cold, the temperature inside my multiple layers was, at times, unbearable.

After just over an hour of steady uphill walking we arrived at a ridge. We had put our harnesses on earlier and were now told to add our helmets to the impressive mountaineering ensemble. An hours rock climbing then began. We split into two groups, each of which had a guide at the helm and four amateur climbers roped in behind (at 2 metre intervals). The going was relatively easy as we worked our way up, aside from the odd section where I’d have to search for a decent foot/hand hold. Great fun.

We reached the summit and settled down for lunch. At 3300 metres, sandwiches have never tasted so good. Over my shoulder was a sheer rock face of approximately 1000m. I remember wondering if anyone had ever come up that way? Probably.

Eric and John, our guides, were concerned that the weather could change soon, and with a few more items on their training agenda we were hustled back down via a different route. The technique for descent was much more straightforward – run. Summer holidays on the Northumberland now came in handy as the snow behaved in much the same way as sand.

At the bottom we adjusted the rope length to about 5m as were about to get our first taste of walking on a glacier. A huge expanse of snow lay in front of us as we trekked into the unknown. In the distance I could see another group of walkers, but aside from that it was a complete wilderness.

To our left there was a steep face of ice and we headed for it. It was time for a bit of crevice rescue training. I could try to explain it but you’re much better off watching the video below, which shows Dominic being ‘lowered’ off the edge before being yanked back out.

This lesson over, we headed home. We had been due to stay another night in a hut further across the Orny Glacier but for some strange reason the owner had decided to shut up shop for the day so we were forced back to Chamonix. The hike back to the ski lift seemed to take forever. All in all we had walked for almost 8 hours and by the time we reached the van I was ready for a glass of wine. The ski lift down gave amazing views of the Swiss Alps (according to Rob anyway – I had my bag in front of my face the whole way as I suffer from vertigo).

The van failed to start again, and we had to ask around for jump leads to get the bugger going, but by 4pm we were on our way. Dinner and an early night lay in store. Set my alarm for 8am and slept blissfully for 10 hours. It had been an amazing day.

***** Still think my efforts were worthy of sponsorship? Visit my JustGiving page to find out more about my chosen charity and to donate *****

I awoke on the morning of Wednesday 16th June in Islington, London. The previous night I had travelled from Liverpool by train to stay the night with my climbing partner and long-time friend, Mr Robert Bence.

The travelling had only just begun. From Rob’s home we jumped the tube to Victoria, followed by a further train to Gatwick Airport. Our EasyJet flight then hurled us across the Channel to Geneva where we hitched a taxi to Chamonix.

After months of building up to the moment of entering this famous mountain town, dreaming of seeing the famous Mont Blanc massif before us, we were sorely disappointed. Rain greeted us in the Alps and little could be seen bar the lower tip of a creeping glacier.

Wednesday evening was spent in the company of our climbing group. In total there were eight of us, all with varying mountaineering and life experience. ‘The Castle’, our home for 4 of the 7 nights away, was surprisingly cozy. After initial introductions we then met with John Taylor, a British mountain guide and Director of MontBlancGuides.com.

We were shown a short DVD presentation which showed us what the week would likely entail. We were also informed of the grim news that the five previous groups had all failed to reach the summit due to poor weather. This was, according to John, the worst start to a climbing season he had ever experienced. Still, there was still every chance that things could change so I went to sleep full of anticipation.

Our first full day proper in the Alps began at 7am. After a shower and food we were asked to present our kit to Eric Dumerac, a Canadian guide who would be joining us for the first few days of training. I was lacking in a few little essentials (water bottle, extra gloves and hooded coat) so, after spending yet more cash in Chamonix’s second least expensive clothing store, we were on our way.

Our first few days were scheduled to be spent acclimatising in the Swiss Alps. We jumped in an old van and off we went. Notable incidents en route to Switzerland included Eric banging wing mirrors whilst creeping through a village, and the starter motor failing due to a flat battery at a service station. One push start later and we were up and running again.

We arrived at the lofty town of Champex at around midday. Ski lifts would take us to an altitude of around 1800m (I’d never been on a ski lift and can confidently say that I’m in no rush to go on another). At the ‘top’ we marched on into the hills, quickly reaching our first glimpse of snow as we twisted round the narrow mountain path.

It was cold, wet and a little windy, but as long as we kept moving then the going was good. Eric’s shout of buying a coat with a hood was a good one.

The higher we got, the more snow we encountered and the poorer the visibility became. The group quickly spread out but a good trail of foot prints made it easy to follow.

After around 2-3 hours of hiking a beautiful site emerged from the gloom. Shelter! The Cabane d’Orny was our home for the night. A statue Ibex stood outside the front door which we quickly photographed before heading inside, leaving our boots in the ‘foyer’. Inside was basic but strangely welcoming. I guess after hours spent in the wind and snow lowers your standards, but I remember thinking how wonderful the place was.

We were treated to a three course dinner which I promptly devoured, going back for three helping of the main course of gammon and vegetables. After dinner a few of us played cards, before John advised us of the plan for the following day. The weather looked good early on so it was to be an early start.

Just before we went to bed the clouds, which had constantly obscured our views, parted briefly. I ran outside to take a few pictures. The moon could be seen about the jagged mountain face in front of the hut. Amazing.

One by one the group headed upstairs to the dormitory. Apparently it can get fairly busy in there during peak season (which should, actually, have been now) but tonight we had a dorm to ourselves.

I grabbed a spare pillow, set my alarm for 4.50am and shut my eyes. Nothing happened until about 2am when I finally managed to get to sleep.

***** Still think my efforts were worthy of sponsorship? Visit my JustGiving page to find out more about my chosen charity and to donate *****