“Really? You can’t remember what we had for dinner two days ago?” asks the wife.
This is a game we play all too frequently. My wife, who has a memory only rivalled by a computer hard disk, likes to frequently test how my own memory is quite the opposite. I’ve come to think of it as more like rough scribblings on a piece of loo paper, which is then duly flushed down the pan.
Roughly six weeks ago I penned this post about finishing the Haute Route this year. I closed the article with this: “And lastly, the big question. Would I do it again?” to which I answered myself: “But there is no way on earth I would put myself through anything like it ever again”.
I have just signed up for the 2013 Haute Route Alps event.
What’s wrong with me?