Defeat.

This morning I drove back from Font after our 4 day New Year trip there.

30+ hours driving
£180 in fuel
1 ½ days climbing
2 days walking around in drizzle and clag
5 peeling finger-tips
4 hours of bad sleep this morning

Was it worth it?

No.

It was the most promising start to a Font trip ever - driving down from Dunkirk to Paris it was -5°C all the way (apart from when it was -6), even when the sun came up, and Monday was a perfect winter sun day. There had been a last-minute forecast of "30% chance of snow showers" on Tue/Wed, which in theory shouldn't have been a problem given the icy temps and bone dry rock. But the reality defied all theory and indeed all common sense. Despite Monday night being at least -2°C if not colder, it somehow rained overnight, which promptly froze, completely fucking up the next few days. Thus Tue and Wed were spent reccing a damp forest - useful for future visits but little consolation really. We managed to find enough dry rock for a few hours bouldering before the ferry on Thu, but it was too little too late.

The company was good, the gite was good, and the food was pretty good. The one ambition I achieved was not bouldering but eating: I finally cooked myself some horse - with Sloper's recommendation on the cooking method - and it was surprisingly mild and melt-in-the-mouth tender. Hurrah. But having an exciting, celebratory, New Year's bouldering trip in the Forest dissolve away into grey, damp, retreat was pretty shit. I'd like to be more philosophical about this but a combination of frustration, cheesemares, long late night drives and general knackeredness has left me feeling pretty bleak today.

When this passes, I'll be able to take in the New Year more, and have some positive, productive thoughts on it.