I woke early in the morning. The heating in the Youth Hostel, following the 2 freezing tent-bound nights previous, had made for a clammy sleep. I moved quietly, trying not to disturb John in the bunk opposite. He awoke as I was finishing my packing and we went down together to get breakfast. Often I find the food at Youth Hostels to be fairly unappetising, but once again the Keswick cooked breakfast impressed. As started on my second plate of fried bread, egg and beans I glanced out of the window at the grey drizzle outside, eternally grateful I was not making my breakfast myself outside. I chatted idly to John, the topics ranging from his raging endorsement for a certain camp-stove (an MSR JetBoil for the interested) to my predicament lost in the fells the
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