Received wisdom is that people learn by experience: if only life was so simple. I can always live in hope I suppose. I have to reveal there is no sign of the onset of common sense, for I have been sand-bagged again. I thought that I had neatly side-stepped the threat of Mark the Stone Farm local by accompanying him to Harrisons. 'Hah! What low cunning I am capable of!' I thought with glee. But it was not to be, for there was another bandit in the bushes, Eddie Church, ready and waiting for the unwary.

All was revealed with the smooth and untroubled ascent of ridiculous pocket-less walls. The bemused trespassers should have been paying attention and not chewing the fat. They should have watched to see how the foot was placed just so, in order to prevent that, which allowed a hand to be moved like this and so on. Furthermore, the trespassers would then have observed that the least likely-looking pocket contained the good hold, whilst the other held nothing but a sloper. The clunk from complaining joints was audible on the ground, but honour was just preserved.

The party moved on another problem. The lower two thirds were really very pleasant, which suggests that the upper third was not. Eddie began to weave a complex tapestry of excuses, none of which received the slightest acknowledgement from below. In his defence, it appeared to be a short man's move that required a long man's reach, with a low centre of gravity and big shoulders. Unfortunately for El Bandito, the trespassers below were watching when he made a lightening snatch for the totally hidden incut. Didn't do us any good mind you. Up with this I will put no more. And, if that wasn't bad enough, the midges bore away at least an armful of my blood.

So off to Unclimbed Wall. A name to gladden the heart of any newcomer to a crag, if ever there was. But look! Dry and clean! With holds and stuff! And impending darkness! Can't have it all, I suppose. Next time, if I must, although if I keep this up (two consecutive Wednesdays on sandstone) this 'innocent abroad' excuse is going to look very lame. But 'Never let the truth get in the way of a good story', and 'If it's a good lie - stick to it', as they say.

Incidentally, Mark has taken to operating an industrial grass strimmer without using the harness, in order to develop greater strength in his shoulders. He is now looking for routes that do not necessitate the use of holds above the head but require repeated twisting from left to right. I am sure he would welcome suggestions: Twisting Gully or Spiral Stairs perhaps.

Adrian