My Precious

Mrs I has gone for a blood test and I am taking advantage of some downtime while she is out. Her bloods need taking monthly due to arthiritis. Rheumatoid. It is not nice to bear witness to her pain and discomfort. She never complains. A carer to elderly parents, a wife to a grumpy old git. A stalwart who just gets on with it. She has been a vigorous, vibrant personality for all of our adult lives and still walks the dog and comes with me on gentle ambles. But no more mountains, no more exposed ridge scrambles.
No more days out on the fells. My attitude leans more to nostalgia and sadness. A kind of grieving if you will for what we have lost. Her attitude is joy at a life lived and celebrated. We have the memories, we had the good times. More than many people will ever have. How lucky am I.

The books are a small selection of my favourite reading. Wainwright, Birkett (a personal friend) and many others. Alan Hinckes' 8000 metres is staggering and has been read many times over. We have many happy memories. And I still have my books.