Easter Sunday. I awake a hundred miles from here, to buzzing chainsaws. I return, and the chainsaws buzz. People subconsciously trying to cut down Christ from that cross still, with chainsaws?

The first, of possibly three days without gear. Or so the omens foretell. No cash, no prospective lenders, well, as I write it, one comes to mind, but noone reliable.

I think of twenty years of constant use, and I compare it to relationships, love. How many people could love the same person daily with longing like we do with gear?

Who would not get bored, who would not want to try something else - that's human nature. But just by acetylating a morphine structure, something has been created that avoids waning attraction. A permanent, perhaps feedback-looped lovelock. Marvellous that for all our sophistry and high words, our minds can be fooled and enslaved to such a simple combination of C H and O.


Nine o'clock. I, earlier, up the mountain, debated turning my 'phone off for the duration of the weekend. I am enough of a realist to admit that leaving it on indicated a desire to score, a hope for someone to text or ring.

They did, and I used. Only two days left now to purge these C's H's and O's.