Ode to the Tower of Doom

So, here it is. The official beginning to a regular blog spot, not before time you will notice!

I thought it was only right to start with an Ode to the Office - before eyes start to roll and boredom pushes you to a mouse click for a more interesting link, the support in helping to reach my fundraising target from the guys at work has been overwhelming and the constant request for updates ongoing. For that I am truly grateful and probably owe a good few rounds of beers! Besides, I thought I would have bored everyone by now with this topic of conversation!!

I have finally put my fingers to the keyboard, (not for want of trying), under the burdening pressure for more information and curiosity on how I am feeling in the run up to the escape from London. I've always been a slow starter. Ask Paola.

The growing excitement for our upcoming adventure has also been nudged along by snippets of conversation as I buzz around the office on a daily basis, not least from the most recent of instalments with Gordon and Ray, the dynamo team from the North-west corner of the floor.

Tips on how to position myself over a long drop and how to milk a yak, has been invaluable. I don't know who their scoutmaster was, but certainly puts a question over whether an introduction to our ever-respected Expedition Patron may be appropriate! I am indebted to them for this advice and clarification.

My line manager, Paul, cannot be faulted for regular monitoring of the website for updates and when the next party is being organised, if not more importantly registering the venue for a rating on the social barometer (full credit for letting me know how crap I have been on the blogs yesterday!) .

Subsequently, having hassled, cajoled and cornered anyone willing to listen or unable to escape the begging tin for Dress Down Day contributions, my personal target has nearly been met.

The inevitable odd krona and euro cent strayed past the gaudy Christmas wrapping paper-covered lid which was super-glued onto a translucent plastic begging bowl. I don't know what training programme the office manager attended but this invaluable creativity has certainly contributed to saving the state of my micro-economic activity.

I bypassed a few desks from where, it has to be said, there emanated souring karma and audible sniffs at charity-induced loose change hardship, which only hardened my resolve to set a new, higher target for the August deadline - watch this space. Who knows what contraption will be created to assist my efforts in the working arena!

How am I feeling? A little ridiculous actually. Having thought through all the kit that I might need and spent a good portion of my overdraft on a last minute dash to all the outdoors shops in Covent Garden on the weekend, I have realised the severity to my error in judgement from the feedback from Hillarians, Zingers and Trektators alike, in last minute messages zipping around.

There's been little mention of technical kit, more like chat on what to do without a daily injection of caffeine and how many bottles of Newcastle Ale can be squeezed into a back pack without undue detriment to the emergency supply of Snickers and nuclear energy bars, stuffed alongside a wad of PG Tips.

At least I know how to get a fresh supply of milk.