Passing Out

I celebrated the ascent in my usual fashion with a bowl of the finest shag.  But, of course, I’m not a particularly frequent smoker and wholly inexperienced in the art of mountain-top puffing.  It took an age, huddled behind the paltry shelter, and most of my lighter fluid to get the damn thing lit at all.  Now here’s a tip: when on the verge of hyperventilating through attempted lighting up, do not stand up into howling gale, pipe in mouth.  The highly concentrated tobacco smoke blown directly into starved lungs, can, I am reliably informed, feel suspiciously akin to the playground game of holding your breath for 30 seconds then having a ‘friend’ punch you really hard in the gut.  It’s really quite unpleasant.  Still, traditions are traditions.