[comPiler]

First things first
17 June 2012, 12:59 am

I've been meaning to do this blog lark for a while now,but computers unnerve me.I can't really type,and I'm lazy. Luckily I have acquaintances who live firmly in the 21st century to help me with such things as setting up  computerised stuff.Thus,here we are...frankly it scares me that I live in a world where I can inflict my thoughts on the masses,should they choose to read this drivel,but fuck it. I subscribe firmly to the adage that everyone's entitled to my opinion,and that's where I hope this blog's gonna go. Bouldering,training,failure,boredom,the occasional hard send,existential woe,techno,house,booze and above all,living for the craic.Welcome aboard,kids.It's likely to get messy.



Source: Urepentant man child

[comPiler]

Four days of progress,racist ducks and extreme weightlifting
17 June 2012, 11:02 pm

It's been an odd sort of week.Following a dismal day at The Cave Of Justice and Pill Box the other Sunday,I was convinced to take some rest by two other members of the NW over-35's club.Not before time..I'd gone from 7B+ to punting around falling on my arse off Pill Box Original,all in the space of a week.Brilliant.Rest duly taken,along with some core work.Typically,one of my rest days was a nightmare day at work;four dirty big trees to prune away from an 11kv line near Rimington,home of Lancashire's only racist duck.He's called Bob,and his owner assures me he's a total bastard,and harbours a serious dislike of all black dogs.I'd seen the avian hatemonger on a previous tree job,and was glad I was 50 feet up a big old ash tree,where he couldn't get at me.I've got a fair tan,and I wouldn't put it past him to hold that against me.  Anyway...back to climbing.Partially rested,I hit Longridge for a recce of Robins' crimpy 7C,Colon Power.I got a bit distracted by watching Andy F's wack old man sequence on Grow Wings SS.He got up it though,but I think sneaking up stuff instead of powering is missing the point,largely because I can't fathom how his method works.Luckily I boshed it first go with my basic thug beta.Put that in yer pipe and smoke it,footwork.The old man's going ok to be fair,though;he cruised across Left Wall Traverse at The Cave the other Sunday.Ben "Snaps" Freeman rolled up too,and proceeded to casually waltz up everything he got on.Some serious ginger power there.He gave me the goods about Colon Power,and I'll be back for that one.

Friday I trained indoors at BUK,on some of the Darwen Weasel's randomly graded 3D nightmares,and put in a good 24 hang set of encores on the ol' Crusher board.Feeling strong(well,for me) I decided to head for the only dry rock in the bloody country on Saturday.Yep,that's right...the fucking Cave.It was full to the rafters with assorted wads,chancers and Dan Turner,who was rocking a shocking gay pride striped Eurovest-a strong look for sure.I was far from psyched and waited it out.Burnley's finest hobbit lookalike,Wilko, put in a sterling effort on Pit Of Hell,getting very close on the link,only failing a couple of moves from the end.Great stuff.On one attempt he duffed it and swore up a storm,only to turn round and see a shocked looking young family with toddlers in tow.Fortunately ,they were foreign,so probably didn't have the faintest idea what he was shouting on account of his unintelligible East Lancs twang.I finally climbed,and punted it up failing on Rock Atrocity.It feels about 9D,but this might be something to do with me unconsciously trying to do the crux off my middle two,instead of three fingers and a thumb.I blame Robins for this,bloody Crusher boards... I avoided total embarassment by doing Lip Service,a funky thing that gets 7B.It feels soft to me,but what do I know.I can't even count my own fucking fingers.A great little problem though. I celebrated a day's punting with a smashing Shiraz Cab,and headed out on Sunday with a thick head,fourth day on...this was meant to be another recce to suss the moves on Underhand Extension.I did actually figure out the moves,which is progress.On a fresher day,I'll have it.Hopefully next time,I won't be distracted by the strangest thing I've ever seen at Almscliff...two full on oddities with a weight bench and a bar.I've got no fucking idea what that was about.Extreme outdoor weightlifting? Fuck knows.One of em was leching at my arms,in a decidedly strange manner...full throttle gay,or just some surreal body fascist? I don't know,and frankly I don't want to.After all this,I went home,I'd had enough.This week,if the planets allign,I'll link Underhand Extension,buy some Richie Crouch-style trackies,and maybe even learn to do paragraphs,cos this is all a bit James Joyce....it's gonna be a cracker.Over and out.      



Source: Urepentant man child

[comPiler]

Bitterness,epiphany and Balotelli
28 June 2012, 10:55 pm

This'll come as zero surprise to those who know me,but I really don't like young people much.I was one once,but I'm convinced I was probably a prize cunt with dubious dress sense,not unlike the hordes of garish,tight trousered,screeching no-marks who infest the pub near my gaff every Thursday night,thus disturbing my much needed beauty sleep.They seem to find it entirely impossible to converse in anything but a full-volume,high pitched babble.This is more than likely something to do with alcohol,but this is no excuse;it's merely another mark against them.It's not bad enough that they wear farcical trousers and have stupid fucking hair and are noisy...they can't even hold their drink,a cardinal sin in this part of  Lancashire.  However,the thing that really irks me is young climbers.Again,I was one once,but this isn't gonna stop my tirade.As a bitter,but hard training bloke in his mid/late thirties,it sticks in my craw to see featherweight whippersnappers effortlessly floating up hard problems,with seemingly no graft other than going down the wall and not training in any kind of structured manner whatsoever.Fair play,they get the problems done,but where's my fucking payback? I deadhang with near religious fervour,run power endurance laps,campus,stretch,diet...the list's endless.But still,no dice on my projects.I can't even look back on my youth and think "Bless em,I was just like that...",because I wasn't.Back in the day,all climbing walls were horseshit and apart from anything else,as a young climber I was also shit.I'm still distinctly average now,despite all my effort.And to top it off,I'm also cynical and unpleasant,kinda like a bouldering Charlie Brooker.Except I don't get to dick Connie Huq.

    As you might've gathered,none of my projects have come to fruition,and for a week or so I started to seriously wonder if it was all worth it.The strain,injuries and worrying obsession with wooden rungs and stopwatches,the constant nearly-but-not quite of trying to push your grade.Fortunately,I had a couple of those training sessions that actually feel like some progress is being made...and the negative,bitter bollocks that often infests my mind got steamrollered aside.This is when you gotta dig in,fight like fuck to break out of the plateau and really start getting somewhere.At the end of the day,it's utterly futile I guess,since all I want to gain from this is to get better at climbing up little rocks.But that simply isn't the point,is it? It's bouldering,and for all it's ups,downs and brick walls,I fucking love it.I stand by my fervent dislike of young,light,talented climbers who hardly train,though.If you get the chance,take a mallet to their fucking fingers.

 Aside from climbing and bitterness,the footer went better than I expected.And even though they knocked us out in the quarters,I did take great joy in seeing the Azzurri's mighty,mercurial mentalist Mario Balotelli sock it  to the German machine...and he can park where he wants to.Come to think of it,though,he's only about 22.What a bastard.These young fuckers get everywhere...More ranting soon,maybe even with some news about my ongoing quest to push my grade and finally start climbing well.It's unlikely,I admit,but maybe even Rock Atrocity might capitulate soon...and when it does,then by Christ,I'll have several large G'nT's and tell you all about it.



Source: Urepentant man child

[comPiler]

Grades,boards and getting nowhere fast
16 July 2012, 5:51 pm

Since my last post it's rained almost constantly,which does sweet fuck all for psyche levels,but on the up side,does force me to get inside and train.I love training,I like the grind and the graft of it.Since,for mind boggling reasons that I can't quite figure out.,I'm mostly a mid 7's punter outside,I spend a vast amount of time engaged in a seemingly futile and neverending Moebius loop of  wood and plastic based exercise.Don't get me wrong,I fucking hate climbing on plastic with a vehemence bordering on mania,but in these monsoon soaked conditions,what the fuck can you do? Just accept it,and get on with slipping off hold after hold of  scattergun graded volume heavy crap,it would seem... Or not,as the case may be...salvation has of late arrived in the form of renewed psyche for Wilko's board in the satanic depths of Nelson.It's a weird set-up,a 45 degree cellar board,that actually 53 degrees and in a loft.Can't really hold it against Wilko though,he's from bandit country and can barely speak coherent Queens English,so expecting any kind of accuracy re angles and location might be pushing it a bit.Regardless of this,the anklebiting mini-beast's board is actually fucking class.With the sterling assistance of  Mr Crusher Holds,Darwen's very own P-Robes,we added a plethora of new holds and set to repeating the old problems and setting new ones.I swear,pulling as hard as you can on wooden crimps on a steep board;it's like a fucking panacea for the soul.The grades make sense,too,in a kind of  harsh way (as in board 6C = real world 7A+ or so),which isn't something I can say for The Shelterstone at Trowbarrow.And thus onto the grades of the title.....  As anyone who knows me will no doubt testify,I'm basically an embittered old cunt with slight anger issues,and very little within the world of blocs provokes my ire more than grading,especially undergrading.After two recent Shelterstone sessions,I have to conclude that I've never climbed anywhere in this sceptered isle with such wildly undergraded problems.It's not just cos I'm shit,either.Other,superior climbers have voiced the same opinions.Pit Problem 7B? Shit right off. Jazz Phenomena 7A+??!! Get to fuck. Ned's problem 7B?? Are you smoking fucking crack? I don't care how many times you've done these blocs,how wired you have em...put that pipe down and give us a fucking break. Now before anyone squeals up with the usual "ooh but Lakesbloc is SUCH a great resource,and it's free,yadadada etc ad infinitum",I'm not complaining about that. Lakesbloc is fucking smart,and damn useful. But so are accurate grades.Knowing I'm strong on the board and the Crusher,it's galling to rock up and get summarily stoppered on blocs allegedly well within my range.It really does feel I'm getting nowhere,and at light speed. To vaguely justify these sourest of grapes,none other than the eternally youthful George Clooney of British climbing,Keith Sharples rolled up at Trowbarrow yesterday.After witnessing a strong,timber trained Lancastrian(naming no names,Darwen Sloth...)get spat off  The Groove,he enquired of the grade...6C+,he was told.Watching several of us gurning upside down on Ned's,he asked the grade of that.His laconically raised eyebrow spoke volumes.

In other news,I actually did do the Pit Problem,and my long quest to finish Underhand Extension is nearing completion,I dropped it three moves from the end,after completely forgetting where I was and using the worst sequence known to man.I didn't even have another good go left in me after that,it left me fully done in,and it felt absolutely great.At least I know I gave it the full beans.It'll go next time,I'm certain of that.I mean it can't be that hard,Andi E's done it for Christ's sake.He's done The Keel as well,but I'm ignoring that fact.Worldwide,now the Euros have finished,fuck all happened,apart from another grading-related incident in SA,where globetrotting Viking pillager Nalle Hukkataival dicked all over emaciated food-dodger Paul Robinson's A Simple Knowing 8C in half an hour,suggesting 8B.Now that's one downgrade I'm not gonna piss and moan about-fucking go on my son!! Put that in your white middle class faux-ghetto pipe and smoke it.Anyway,it's Monday,which is core work day,so I'm out of here like I stole something...yeah,I'm that gangsta.Catch you soon,people.Have fun,and train hard.



Source: Urepentant man child

[andy_e]

YES! Best blog on the web.

[BenF]

I hadn't come across this before.  Utter class from start to finish.  The hukkataival/robinson rant is especially amusing.

More please...

[casa]

class ranting fella. Onward & upward

[Sasquatch]

Inspiring!!!!

[Probes]

Unedited versions next time whimp. 

Shit hot blogging.

[SA Chris]

Good stuff. Is this a UKBers blog? If not, who?

[andy_e]

It's CBA's blog, Chorley's finest supermarket wine connoisseur. 

[comPiler]

The Rock Atrocity dichotomy
13 August 2012, 9:52 pm

Dragon laces cinched tight,rubber squeaked clean.Two calloused paws shoved in the chalk bucket,rubbed together,excess blown off.Come on man,this time.Just like Jerry,back in the day.Match the flake and pull on,an easy first move to the pocket.Right foot outside edge on the spiky crimp,and a stiff pull into the next,worse right hand drilled slot.Dig in,bone it like a fucking fishmonger,step left foot through,big move to the glued on flake.Squeeze it man,no kipping here,right foot high,really drill the fucker into that useless foothold.Out with the right hand to match that motherless shithouse of a hold.Got it.Fuck,fuck,fuck...what's the foot sequence?Don't think,just hold the cutloose and get that right foot on.Then go like fuck for the pinch,but no,I'm fading,I'm fat, weak and fucking useless,and swing off as my right hand vainly attempts to close on it.I slump onto my dusty pad,dejected but somehow perversely ebullient.Ten minutes rest,some water,a roll up and then perhaps one last go? Nah.Fuck it.Not today,man.Pill Box anyone?                             Sound familiar? Fucking Rock Atrocity,the glued up and drilled but brutally brilliant albatross round my neck had just struck again.I honestly had no idea it would take this long.My first session,I linked it in a couple of overlapping sections and was confident,nay,convinced it'd go next visit....but it would seem the goat-headed gods of The Orme had other plans for me.I'm now five sessions deep on the thing,some spent going maddeningly backwards,otheres offering that tiny glimmer of hopeful progress that keeps me coming back to that shiny shit filled cack pile that passes for a bouldering venue.The place draws me in,weekend after weekend,rain or shine.And I fucking hate it.The moves are horrible,the holds awkwardly sized...I mean Christ alive,if you're gonna completely manufacture a problem,at least make it a good one.But see the thing is,it's a fantastic bloc.I love and loathe it in equal measure;I could quite happily never try the bastard again,but then could I live with that? The knowledge that I just gave up,fucked it off for something softer,easier,nicer even...      

                                                              No.I'm not having that.It's that simple,black and white,absolute.And herein lies the dichotomy.I hate the fucking problem,the polish,the shitty little slots that tiny fingered 6 stone youngsters can camp on,the eminently dropable finishing moves.I despise the whole man-made abomination that it is,Cave right-of-passage be damned,fuck it,I'll just be glad when it's all over.But truly,will I? Cos the funny thing is,this apparently futile siege,this pointless journey from one seemingly arbitrary point to another in a dusty piss smelling cave seems to be making me fucking happy.I'm hating the problem,but loving the journey.And despite grades,names,kudos and anything else you'd care to attach to success on a project,sometimes that's what it's all about.Malc knew the score.He didn't call it it Pilgrimage for nothing.                                                                                                                               Away from the confines of the Cave,some other shit happened.I found another Ormes project in the form of the fantastic Jack Daniels/Aint No Party.After receiving some out of the blue Bowen Technique physio from a passing philanthropist with magic hands the other weekend,I boshed Jack Daniels Connection with very minimal effort,and ended up two moves from doing the link up on my third go,right at the end of the day.Even the "Small German",Wilko (cos he has "tiny hans"-thanks to Bolton's answer to Frank Skinner,Serpico,for that gem!) was surprised,since normally he sees me climbing like a blindfolded footless cripple with lard on my hands.Unlike RA,that one'll go soon.Capping off the recent Welsh trips for me was Where's My Hippo,another one done right at the end of a session,with no skin and arms like overcooked spaghetti.What a great problem,I can't fault that one.                                                                                           Elsewhere,the Olympics was quite simply fucking ace.I planned just to watch the cycling,but got drawn in,watched allsorts,loved it,was inspired,and ended up with a slight fetish towards the Netherlands girls hockey team,who seem to be comprised almost entirely of fucking smoking blondes.Brilliant.Then City beat the Rentboys in the Community Shield,go on lads!! To cap it all,the Premier League starts again in a week...it's onwards and upwards all the way,whether RA gives in soon or not.And I'm almost,almost hoping it doesn't.Thanks for reading this tripe,people.More musings and slight mental health issues soon.          

Punting it up on Rock Atrocity

The Young German/East Lancs Hobbit Wilko on Jacks Party

Actually completing a problem!!!!                  

Source: Urepentant man child

[CBA]

Having re-read this last post,I realised I'd gone a tad overboard on the profanity.Poor form.A considerably less F-bomb peppered edit is available.My apologies to those strange few who read my waffle for the slip in standards.

[andy_e]

For fuck's sake.

[Jaspersharpe]

This blog is fucking class. Keep it up sir.

[Andy F]

Don't change a thing, keep up the high standard. Otherwise we'll have to read Andi E's blog     

[Stubbs]

Have you only got two fingers in the second slot on RA in that photo?  Must be a different ball game if you can't squidge three in!

[peewee]

Have you only got two fingers in the second slot on RA in that photo?  Must be a different ball game if you can't squidge three in!

There was a little mock and debate about this, his 3rd finger may be in the slot but certainly isn't being used, explains why he was finding the cut loose hard. 

[CBA]

As Peewee said,I did have three fingers in the RH slot,but was basically dragging it,fingerboard style.Too much Crusher board abuse.I've since rectified this,but even crimping the life out of it hasn't got me up the thing yet. What I really need is a wifebeater with a dirty great wolf on it,the Cave wouldn't know what had hit it.

[nicboarder]

Haha!! Don't worry ainsworth, wolf wife beater is on my Christmas present shopping list! you will have absolutely no excuses when the power of the wolf infiltrates every fibre of your body! And I am deadly serious, you best wear this one. Still waiting to see you man up enough to wear that red boosh tshirt I got you!!

[comPiler]

The Real Life?
27 November 2012, 12:46 am

I haven't posted anything in a good while,several months in fact.It's not that I've had nothing to say;I've got a right mouth on me and a brain full of opinions,which I usually inflict on anyone who'll listen.It's not that  I haven't been battering my body and my ego with training and climbing,cos I have.It's just that something kinda got in the way.A real kick up the arse called real life.                                    

                    I'll cut straight to it here,cos for reasons that should become abundantly clear,I figure life's too short to procrastinate and fuck around dodging the point.My old man's suffered from depression,off and on,for a few years now,brought on by his failing body,increasing years and general propensity for being a cynical old fucker.He used to be as fit as a flea,hiking 20-odd miles in the hills every other day,a mad keen gardener,and a man with a typically Northern liking for the odd pint or six.For the first few bouts,we were on top of it a bit,and aside from a short voluntary spell in hospital,the old dog seemed ok.Yeah,so he was struggling with a fucked back,melanoma,and a wrecked stomach,but he was tough,"in my day,we 'ad to work 40 hours a day at t'mill,wi rickets,consumption AND polio." Made out he was fine,you know?We knew he wasn't tip top,but out of pride,stubbornness and outright hard faced Lancastrian stupidity,he really didn't give too much away.Three months ago,he tried to overdose,and to be fair,the old goat gave it a pretty good go.He ended up in intensive care,then the mental health unit,where he broke his hip badly,and nearly didn't come through the op,then normal hospital again,and now back to the mental health unit.Suffice to say,he's not too psyched.And from what I can tell,he's just counting the hours,man.Simply doesn't wanna know anymore. And it's fucking hard.My mum's been in bits,but she's tough too.As for me...Well....I dunno how I'm dealing with it really,you do your best in these situations eh,you're there for people who need you,you crack on as best you can.This sort of shit happens to everyone,in one way or another.                                                      But not everyone climbs.I do,it's my life,off and on I've been at it for years,in one form or another.And suddenly,it seemed trivial,fuck all;a selfish ego driven pastime,irrelevant..I've felt a bit like that about climbing before,but usually cos of  repeated failure on some bloc or other,or due to hitting a long training plateau or dip;nothing serious.This time was different.Perspective.The so-called "real life" of the title.And I simply wasn't sure what to do.So...I kept training,I kept climbing when I could;I grabbed it with both hands like it was important,like it meant something.Not just for the stability,the sheer normality of it,although that was there for sure.No.For the whole fucking package.The projects,the failures,those classic days out with good friends,the easy circuits,the highballs,the whole glorious craic of it all.Because it does mean something,fuck knows what,I can't just put it into words just like that.But it's keeping me going,giving me what i need to get by and be there for the family and friends.Climbing's fucking fantastic.                                                           My dad wouldn't want me to stop either,he's always said that.He thinks it's fucking bonkers,but I think he gets it.And I'm not stopping,might have to take my foot off the gas a bit,but hell...the projects are all close now,even that fucking thing in the Cave,and Lancaster Bomber up at the mighty Lad Stones.Life IS too short not to keep trying,not to keep training.This shit isn't trivial,it's not irrelevant.It's still real life,just a different bit;and it's no less valid for that.                                                                                                                              Next time,I promise I'll write a fun one,packed to the gills with vitriol,sarcasm,and even some bouldering.Oh,and the tale of Andy F,Vitruvian Man,and the wackest toe-hook beta I've ever seen.I might even have climbed something worthy myself,but don't hold your breath,cos no one can snatch defeat from the jaws of victory like I can.Meantime,keep the fucking faith and thanks for reading.

Source: Urepentant man child

[fatneck]

You have a fantastic style Caleb...

Sorry shit sucks at the moment but thanks for sharing...

I mean that...

[Wood FT]

You have a fantastic style Caleb...

Sorry shit sucks at the moment but thanks for sharing...

I mean that...

Reminds me of Irvine Welsh

All the best mate, the dog is about in my family too

[Johnny Brown]

I kept climbing when I could; I grabbed it with both hands like it was important, like it meant something. Not just for the stability, the sheer normality of it, although that was there for sure. No. For the whole fucking package. The projects, the failures, those classic days out with good friends, the easy circuits, the highballs, the whole glorious craic of it all. Because it does mean something, fuck knows what, I can't just put it into words just like that. But it's keeping me going, giving me what i need to get by and be there for the family and friends. Climbing's fucking fantastic.

Amen to that.

[Nibile]

Strong words, strong blogging.
Stay strong.