It would be remiss of me to allow this email to be the only one you receive over the Easter weekend to not contain some sort of egg or egg-related reference. I will spare you the puns and just offer up this image, which didn’t make it into Grit Blocs, although the problem did. This time next year expect an image of Easter Rib at Stanage, and the year after maybe Creme Egg Eliminate at Caley.

The narrative of modern rock climbing is often told in terms of the sponsored stars projecting on overseas trips, extended van-life tours, and famous trophy climbs. Which is all great, but climbing isn't all about the big names and big numbers. There’s a certain joy to be had as a local climber snatching a midweek hour or two at a local crag before it gets dark.

When the I started bouldering in the Peak at the tail end of the 1990s most of the problems I tried, and often failed on, were only afforded a grade. No names, because it was ‘only bouldering’. It wasn’t proper climbing, it wasn’t valued. Looking back, Cleo’s Edge was the first problem I managed to climb which warranted a name.