I may as well own up now. I failed in my major ambition to climb this damned thing. I made it to the new 7th station with a pounding headache and slight dizziness. The weather was threatening and I was progressing at a slower rate than an asthmatic ant carrying shopping (thankyou Blackadder). The going was really rough. Volcanic rubble and sand made slipping easy and we all had sticks purchased at the bottom, for branding at every station achieved. The summit-makers could pay for a special red dye brand. I waited in the hut of the new 7th station and tried to sleep off my queasiness.  It poured with rain and as I snuggled deeper under the heavy quilting, I felt happily less disappointed about my failure. Later I sat cross-legged on the tatami matting writing postcards and watching the wet and sweaty climbers come in for their brands and water purchases. I did find out later (about seven hours later) that my group had made it above the cloud level before much of the rain had fallen, but I was regaled with how freezing it was at the top, the iciness of the wind and how they were all panicking about getting down before dark (most of them made slow progress with head torches).

Oh well. It may have to be one of those experiences I just let go of. Doesn't bode well for me ever climbing Kili…