SUMC Cornwall meet

A violation of human rights and human dignity

Friday:

We assembled at Redbrick around 5 some 21 of us. While I cannot testify as to the progress of anyone else's journey, Owen, Dylan and I were squeezed like sardines into the back of Evo’s deathtrap of a car, barely room to breathe as we were packed so tightly the eyes bulged from our sockets and every speedbump saw a new rib crack or bone shatter, all the while Will, Judas he was rested easily at the front. And yet, when we stopped for fresh air I failed to escape, having become utterly institutionalised to Evo’s car, having forgotten what a pleasant journey might be as a standard of comparison. We arrived at the scout hut before any of our fellows, and already, the antique bell hanging centrally on one of the walls was too tempting not to ring. In hindsight, I can only admire the sheer reserves of willpower that those making breakfast possessed in order to not ring the bell to wake us up! Slowly over the course of the evening, the rest of us filed into the scout hut, making use of the luxurious single room as our board for the two nights we stayed. Before retiring however, Fragras fulfilled what I believe to be a lifelong aspiration of his, to be thoroughly objectified, reduced to the level of weights as he was bench pressed by Eddie and Jenson.

This would be balanced out by his use of a unicycle at some point, though I don’t remember if this was Friday night or Saturday, and cannot be bothered to ask anyone. As sleep came over, I was perturbed by what I thought was a chorus or rustling coming from the bags behind me. I mused in my brain that should all of that be coming from one man, then he would probably be having a seizure, I discovered in the morning that it was all coming from Will, though he was not in fact, having a seizure. 

Saturday

I am told that Moi, Sasha, Peter, Liv, Neil and Catherine went to the Tate art gallery. However, scandal abounded as some of the paintings had exposed breasts!

The rest of us drove off to attempt either some trad climbing, or teaching skills under the tutelage of Holly, Eddie and Fraguas. Unless they were teaching us incorrectly with interest in thinning out the weaker members of the club we all learned useful skills in gear placement and belaying before we were rained off.

To fill the rest of the day many of us (though not me) went surfing. It is here where seals were first sighted, much to the delight of Liv. They would rear their grey heads later on as several members such as Liv and myself would report finding them. 

The vegetable curry prepared was to die for, though I am certain no one actually died unless there was a cover-up? 

Sunday

Splitting up once again some of us went to Lands End and the rest (including myself), went to Sennen. In spite of the abysmal weather prediction of rain to rival that of the biblical flood we actually had a successful days climbing, a rare thing indeed for SUMC. I never for a moment doubted the competency and safety of the experienced members charged with my and the rest of the fresher's safety. For in setting up the anchor for our tremendous abseil, Will ingeniously used some kind of yam, sweet potato thing as a biodegradable gear, so even if it did fail I would be contributing to saving the planet <3.  Around this time the first of the days great bounty of crag swag was acquired, a thoroughly moist Mr Tickle plush that was discovered by Chris nearby his anchor. The descent was fantastic down to the rocky outcropping over the sea below as gaping cracks in the rock face like wounds permitted one to spy the gore-like bleed of yellowish and red minerals seeping from the rock in the moist ocean air. When hard ground greeted me once again it was I was engaged in constant struggle against the wretched seaweed for balance as we began climbing up from the outcropping. It was around this point that Chris informed me that I had no soul. As the tide rolled in, with a tremendous spray rising as the waves battered the outcropping of rock, I never wavered in my faith that Owen and Will would set up the multi-pitch in time for Sam and myself to not go swimming involuntarily, and as we clambered back onto the top of the cliffs the long abated rain finally poured down making packing away our gear miserable as we triaged from our, surprisingly good day of coastal climbing. But the day saw a profit as well, as Will liberated an abandoned cam just after an accent, and after tempting Poisdon no less. Poseidon responded to Will through the crash of a wave which soared 30m up and soaked the cliff whereby Chris and Will had only recently finished their ascent. 

The drive back was just as merciless and abusive to the senses as the drive to Cornwall, though there was a pleasant interlude in the services where Moi and Jenson got a photo with some random football player whose name I don’t know and countenance I don’t remember.

"It was Keith" -Moi

Overall pretty based meet.