I’ve had a few new starts since I came down. Most recently, I’ve been hit by an internal rebellion. I was suffering from a bout of migraines, which, touch wood, are over. All the best medical knowhow didn’t come to the bottom of what caused them, so they may yet reappear.

So once again, I’m picking up the pieces of the ball which I dropped (to mix a metaphor). It’s no real hardship, I suppose. I know I can do it now. By Jiminey, I’ve picked it up three or for times over the last few years, and still managed to drop it again.

Back to the base camp in my life. There to pick up the kit and supplies I need to make yet another assault on Everest. Another route, another journey. I don’t know where this one will take me. But each expedition leaves me stronger than the last. Better skilled, clearer thinking, with an entirely new world view. Each time, base camp looks more enticing. I almost decided to stay here this time. But I need to push for the pinnacle, even if I don’t know exactly what pinnacle I’m searching for.

People keep asking me what I want. That most alien of questions. I don’t know what I want. To be more accurate, I do know what I want, but that’s less an aspiration than a pipe dream. I want write. So I do. And the problems arise from what I need to do getting in the way of what I want to do. Writing is not a career choice, but a future dream. I want to do something worthwhile. Something where, in the great ledger in the sky, it tallies to the better side of the score.So much of hospitality in this city is simply persuading people with more money than sense to line the pockets of people up the chain. That’s demoralising. I do it for six months, and then I have to walk away.

What do I want?

I want to do something where the money lines the right pockets at the end of the day. Charities. I want to sell the dream that each person can do a little good, that everyone can make a difference, just by pulling together, and more importantly, pulling in the same direction. I want to make them feel good about lining the pockets of a charity. I want to make them dance. And again, it’s an impossible pipe-dream.

It’s an impossible dream. But once I’ve got the supplies and the equipment, once all my energy is refreshed, once the weather is better, then I’m going to push on for the peak again. I won’t necessarily make it even this time. But I need to keep pushing, or I’ll never get there. I can’t believe in that. The impossible future is possible. If I didn’t believe that, then what’s the point…