I'm back in Toulouse for a night, fulfilling work duties before heading back up the mountain tomorrow morning. I certainly won't try anything as stupid as I did on Sunday night, but I must admit I'm starting to tire of the climb, even to the bit where the snow plough clocks off and turns round to go home. Sure sign of getting older, I suppose. That, and the fact that other people depend on me, making me a little more cautious than I was in previous lives. I remember a few years ago in American Samoa, when I hired a car and drove off to explore the island. I ended up on a promontory overlooking a 400-feet sheer drop into the sea. That in itself was no problem, the sticking point was that I had to turn the car round through 180 degrees on a rough track only about four feet wider than the car itself with no barrier between me and death. I sweated and lived to tell the tale, but it would never cross my mind to take that kind of risk again. Not until last Sunday, I suppose. Shit, ultimately we never learn, do we?