Snowdon, Sandwiches and a Soggy Sock

Snowdon, Sandwiches and a Soggy Sock

Snowdon, Sandwiches and a Soggy Sock ‘We can’t go on’ I shout. I am two thirds of the way up Mount Snowdon in Wales, the wind buffeting my oversize pac-a-parka, whipping the hood toggles against the side of my damp face.  ‘We have to go back, he said make sensible...

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