Climb every (artificial) mountain

So I went climbing. And of all the life lessons I've ever handed on to you, dear, dear Faithful, I cannot emphasise this one enough: girls, if you have any fat on your arse, any fat AT ALL, you must never, EVER go climbing with anyone you are trying to impress. On the scale of sexy events, I'd rate it one down from childbirth and a couple up from vomiting all over yourself in bed. I had prepared myself mentally for the issues inherent with the Bum From Below angle by wearing a long vest top which distracted the eye from most of the offensive areas. What I forgot to allow for was The Harness.

The Harness straps between and around your upper thighs, round your waist and - critically - under your buttocks, and is pulled taut, creating a selection of bulges that would make any remotely normal female look like the Michelin Man. If you, like me, are in possession of a derriere that regularly draws admiring coos from black males and lower-lip-biting, eye-widening stares of pity from girls who are not similarly afflicted, rest assured the long-top-over-tracksuit-bottoms-under-harness look is not one to adopt for Spring Summer 11. Combine it with a menstrual abdomen that looked like I'd swallowed a fridge and the look was pretty much totally terrible.

Just in case you were in any doubt, here is a before image of me from the rear:





















And here is me once the harness was donned. I actually think I've been quite kind in my buttock depiction. In real life it was worse.




















Now just imagine standing ten feet directly underneath that and try and fancy me. I told you. It's physically impossible. LLFF: testing potentially embarrassing things since 2006.

Vanity aside, though, the experience was a positive one. Over our ninety minute introduction class, we scaled various fake surfaces, using the coloured protusions to lift ourselves up and then enjoying the feeling of being winched back down to safety. I was a bit scared on my first go and exhausted by my eighth, but in between found it really quite satisfying although my soft sensitive girlie hands hurt a bit and my freakish size ten feet wouldn't grip some of the smaller nobbles. My gangly arms didn't last too long either, not a shock since I have the upper body strength of a T-Rex, so when the time came for the commemorative photographs to be taken, mine were shot with my trainer on a foothold approximately four inches from the ground. Gabe in Cliffhanger I am not. On the upside, it is unlikely that I'll get myself into a 127 Hours scenario any time soon, so that's something for which to be grateful. And I was in the work toilets today just thinking how lucky I am not to be one of the people in the developing world who have to use train tracks and other public ditches as latrines. Relieving myself in plain view of other people is quite high up on the Things I'd Like To Avoid Doing Ever list. PLUS the nicest plumber in Britain came this morning and fixed my washing machine. And my new phone is up and running. And I don't live in North Korea. And the hormones are on their way out for another 24 days or so. So all in all it's all good and all that.