Dancing with the Devil

With hindsight this moment is probably the most scared I've been for years. I'm sitting on my bum on a remote, barren Alpine mountaintop completely alone wearing my wingsuit and BASE rig. To encourage self-reliance and adding somewhat to the feeling of isolation, for the first time ever, I have told nobody I'm coming here. I don't know the temperature for sure but there are small pockets of fresh snow on the stony ground all around me including on the small (about 4 meters and roughly 40°) but fairly steep shingle covered slope in front of me that finishes at my exit point (unfortunate terminology that). A tiny irregular shaped granite overhang just barley big enough to get both feet comfortably on. The vertical drop below it is around 800 meters, well over 2500ft. The mountaintop has patchy cloud drifting slowly sideways across it and from time to time everywhere I look is completely obscured in fog. I’m pretty sure the slight knocking of my knees and chattering of teeth is down to the sub zero temperature but I can’t be certain.

This is all my friend Freddy’s fault. A few days ago I was quite happily setting up my lovely new and crispy paraglider on a nice smooth and safe grassy launch point in the French Alps when I spotted him just a few yards away talking to some guy. It had been a year or so since I'd seen him so naturally I moseyed over to say hi. I first met Freddy skydiving in California and he is what I like to describe as one of life’s true prototypes, never intended for mass production. A sky lining, rock climbing, skydiving, BASE jumping Frenchie who plays a drum kit attached to his paraglider in flight and dresses up as a clown whenever the fancy takes him. He also performs backflips or juggles while riding a unicycle. For those who don’t know sky lining involves climbing mountains to their most precipitous peaks, stretching a slack line between two convenient points, preferably with a space below that can be measured in hundreds of meters, and walking across its entire never unsubstantial length for fun, sometimes with and sometimes without a safety leash. To see the exploits of him and some of his friends Google “All Aboard Le Petit Bus Rouge” for the trailers to the award winning feature length movie they made. It honestly makes me look like Dora the Explorer.

To reach my exit point I decide to slide on my bum down the slope, over the loose shingle and snow to the little shelf and then pick a clear moment to jump. You must be mad...you must be mad I keep repeating to myself as I slip gingerly along. The friends I was travelling with have gone home so if it all goes wrong it will probably be weeks before someone comes across my corpse in the forest at the bottom, but its taken me over an hour and a half of hard slogging up the steep mountainside to get here and I'm buggered if I'm walking back down now. Every little piece of rock that I feel it a potentially solid hand or foot hold on the short distance down to the ledge, despite the fact it must have been there for a million years comes away in my hand or under my foot and goes tumbling over the edge. I change the mantra for something more positive. No guts, no glory…no guts, no glory. A couple of small, butt clenching slips aside I reach my ledge safely (?!), stand upright and peer into the abyss below. Once again we’re talking Wille Coyote here. A strange calmness comes over me as I feel the first real danger is past. Actually from this point on it’s a piece of cake, said no one ever.

Anyhow all I wanted to say was hey man, long time no see and the next thing I know he's telling me he’s about to meet a friend to go and wingsuit the mountain behind us and before you can pop a crazy pill and say “well your not fuckin’ going without me” I found myself panting and sweating profusely, hiking up what can most eloquently be described as one steep bastard slope.

 Like I say, all Freddy’s fault. So I've only been here once before, and because of the naturally irregular shape of the rock face below its very important to make sure you’re in exactly the right spot. As you can only fall vertically for the first few seconds even in a wingsuit anything protruding too far unexpectedly below will almost certainly be fatal. No guts no glory. I drop a couple of rocks to check. They strike a long horizontal shelf a couple of hundred feet below me after 3 or 4 seconds (another first) however it only protrudes a few meters and I'm sure I can jump out further than it sticks. Or at least I did last time.

 So here I am watching small cricket ball sized rocks turn into even smaller marble sized rocks and dust as they pound into the shelf below, waiting for a gap in the cloud big enough to be able to see my intended flight paths, of which there are two possibilities, and all the while thinking about pushing hard away from the ledge and wishing I could have a cuddle with my Mum. I am well aware that even with my helmet on those little rocks are a great deal more solid than my head, although some would say, considering the position I seem to have volunteered for, not much.

The visibility waxes and wanes as I wait. I feel behind me for the pilot chute stashed in the pocket on the bottom of the rig, first to practice the grab and pull but also to reassure myself its still there and hasn't decided I'm being stupid and walked back down the mountain without me. I check for the umpteeth time the rig’s leg straps and the chest strap, the latter appearing to be the only thing stopping my heart from pounding straight through the front of my ribcage. My usually somewhat sleepy eyes are wide enough to make even the most dedicated coke fiend proud. I also check for my nuts, like men do, but they are nowhere to be found. I then remember they decided to hike back down about 15 minutes ago when they got wind of what the rest of my body was in for. If they had fingers I would have got the middle one for sure as they left. The view from here is the kind that you may pick if it was going to be the last thing you ever saw. I’m on the summit of one of the highest ridges in the area. Between the clouds endless miles of snow capped alpine mountain stretched out to the horizon with the imposing form of Europe’s highest peak, Mount Blanc, dominating the scene. A contented/demented (delete as appropriate) smile spreads across my face. It’s that time again.

Here’s a gap in the cloud. Nothing will be served by waiting longer now. I stop sucking my thumb, put teddy away and hurl myself over the edge. The descent will be pretty vertical until enough airspeed is gained to pressurize the suit via the inlet vents and it begins to fly. Time slows and in the first second I have fallen a short, slow and quiet 16 feet when the Hulk like hand of gravity wraps its fingers around me in an unbreakable grip and pulls me downward, accelerating with the force and wind of a runaway train. The ground rush begins. There’s a tremendous thrill as the rock face begins to rocket by, the speed and noise increasing exponentially.

The marble manufacturing ledge below is getting closer and larger, somehow still in slow motion but not quite slow enough for my liking. Obviously I clear it or I won’t be here to write this, and equally obviously I don’t have time to measure the distance I clear it by but its close enough for me to think about perhaps pushing a smidgeon harder next time. At this point without sufficient airspeed to start gliding after only 2 or 3 seconds, although stable I’m still heading pretty much straight down towards the forest of doom far below. My arms are spread wide stretching the suit for all I'm worth, my toes are now pointed out when just a second or two later with an audible change in the pitch of the wind noise the suit begins to level out and the flight truly begins. By this time my speed will be approaching the 100mph mark, I feel like fuckin’ Superman and I don’t mean having gay sex with a caped hero in spandex. (or do I?)

People often ask why take such a risk for what is often less than a 60 second thrill but the truth is the buzz began before I even started hiking up and will continue long after I have landed. You'd also be surprised at the amount of women I've started meeting on a quite regular basis since I started jumping...nurses mostly but still...Oh yes, and BASE jumpers are all stupid.

There are two antennas around 50 feet tall on the very cliff edge of the plateau, now about 700 meters below I have to fly above to truly be on the safe side if I want to complete a full 1800m descent, and its these I am fixated on while I try to build enough speed and glide ratio to clear. The suit is now nicely pressurised and solid and I begin the delicate task of trying to judge exactly where my glide angle will take me. A simple way to decide, is that if what you are concentrating on is becoming lower in your field of vision you will sail above it, if it is getting higher you will impact before you reach it.

 Slightly to the right of the antennas for reasons best known to her and a few geologists Mother Nature has carved a huge gash out of the mountainside leaving a deep gully. You can commit to the gully if you feel you can't quite glide above the antennas as the terrain here is considerably lower, but between the forest inside, the power lines stretching across it, and the compete lack of any exit once you have entered its not my favourite option at this time. Equally the terrain inside the gully, although lower, is considerably less steep than the rest of the adjacent rock face and you can find yourself rapidly running out of sky. Far to many wingsuiters have run out of skill and met an untimely end flying into cracks like these. I decide to concentrate on clearing the antennas, which for now seem to be getting lower in my field of vision.

Rushing by now at well over 100mph directly below me is the steep forested mountain slope, followed by a small village, the plateau where the paraglider launch is and, if you can build sufficient speed and glide by getting your body position just right to clear the plateau, another 1000 meters to the valley floor. This last part requires skill, practice, perhaps a bigger wingsuit than I have, and of course not inconsiderable judgement and courage. Getting it wrong and waiting too late to decide whether you are going to clear the plateau as it rises up to meet you will, in the worst case prove fatal but mercifully quick. And as I mentioned earlier, I've only been here once before, and I didn’t make it.

By the small village, the ground then begins to level out and rise upward again on a shallow incline for a little over a quarter mile, it then forms half a dozen hedge lined fields at the edge of which are the antennas on the cliff edge. It is this roughly 100 meter rise in the terrain almost imperceptible at my height and speed that is making judging my exact trajectory somewhat problematic. First the antennas are falling slightly in my field of vision (good), then around 30 seconds into the flight they begin to rise slightly (bad). I make subtle adjustments in my body position rolling my shoulders forward dipping my head and pointing my toes to try to make more speed and therefore improve the glide but after another 15 seconds or so it becomes clear I am rapidly running out of sky, so I decide to get ready deploy my one and only parachute.

 Reserves are not a luxury enjoyed by BASE jumpers, we leave those to the sissys in skydiving. With the ground coming rapidly up to meet me and with probably around 10 seconds to impact I begin to arch my whole body to scrub off some of my airspeed and reach behind me to the base of my spine where the pilot chute is located. At this point you are about to slow from around 120mph to 20 pretty much instantaneously with a jolt hard enough to cause some discomfort, so any speed you can loose in the couple of seconds preceding the deployment will help. I pull and release the pilot chute. There is nothing now to do but wait and keep stable as the bridle begins to stretch to its 9 foot length, the closing pins are pulled from the container and the canopy deploys with a boom that would make any artillery Sargeant Major smile. The sound echoes all round the valley.

The force of the deployment throws me violently from a chest down position to chest up, the canopy is on course but the lines twist as my body spins 3 times. Now at about 250ft up I have around 30 seconds to remove my tinted goggles so I can see any fine obstacles (wire fences etc.) better, untwist so I can steer the canopy, unzip my arms so I can use the steering controls and unzip my legs so I have something more efficient than a penguin to land on. Oh, and I'm over the houses, about to land short of the large hedge lined fields beyond, so there is also the little matter of picking a suitable landing spot.

My options are between some small back gardens risking smashing into the houses, and a little field on a steep rise mostly covered in large bushes and with high voltage power lines running along its leading edge risking getting fried. Its one saving grace is that I can see I just have the height to clear the power lines (haven’t I? Think fast!).

Fortunately I am well practiced at getting rid of line twists and am able to do so with a simple adjustment in my body position while removing my goggles, and unzipping my arms and legs in less than 10 seconds. I decide the little field is the preferred option.  It’s small but a lot bigger than the gardens. All I have to do now in the remaining 20 seconds is line up a landing approach in between the bushes and the power lines turning the canopy so I have a headwind to reduce my ground speed and land. What could possibly go wrong? I can see the poles supporting the power lines but not the lines themselves for the first few seconds as I line up a landing approach. 10 seconds left. I make a sharp 90 degree right turn as I approach the field at around 80 feet and a slower 180 degree left turn as I clear the power lines and approach the steep slope just after. At this height I start to notice just how gnarly the bushes are in the field, completely covered in thorns but there is now nowhere else to go. There is just height enough left to steer into the thinnest part of the bushes, get my feet together then flare (slow) the canopy and brace for what could be quite an impact with the steep angle the field rises up at to meet me. The landing turns out to be surprisingly much softer than expected and the rush of touching terra firma unhurt once again is beyond description. Like being born maybe. I’m beaming uncontrollably from ear to ear as I pack away my gear. No guts, no glory. Wingsuiting cliffs is the absolute shit. That’s what I call a fun day out in the countryside. Now for a nice cup of tea.

DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

From where I am I can see two things very significant  to me. About half a mile away the foundation for the take off ramp Evil Kenevil used to attempt to jump his jet cycle over the Snake River gorge back in the 80s, and, as I am on the wrong (?) side of the guard rail the 470 ft drop directly below me that only the heel of my boots and my beige knuckle grip on the bridge handrail is stopping me falling into. Its been a while, dear reader, since I did anything that motivated me enough to write about it but being a baby base jumper is a shot in the arm. There have been all the emotions you would expect, but unexpectedly out of sync. These are thoughts and feelings after taking my fourteenth crazy pill..

This time a legal (wohoo!) and crowded hop, skip and a jump  into the Snake River gorge in Idaho, About a half mile up river from where Evil Kenevil tried to jump his jet cycle across it back in the 80s.  I loved Kenevil as a kid. This is surely a good omen even if he did crash into the canyon and almost die. There must be some serious crossing of energy lines in this area.

Till now I never really understood what soldiers meant when they say that in combat there is no time to be scared. “Oh really!!” Sez I…“No fuckin time you say!!” You would think with people shooting at you and bombs going off, if there was time for anything, its shitting yourself, right? In fact as times go, was there ever a better one for shitting yourself?

Whoever you think you are, you’ve never done anything like this before you do it for the first time, so you can never really be sure how you will react .For me climbing over a guard rail is like that first shot in combat. I did not really expect it but there is no time to be scared. In fact, for want of a more politically correct expression, if there was ever a time not to be gay about something, this is it. Even as I write this I question my motivations (there are a few), and what, beside the obvious adventure, would make me go past the stage of thinking, to regularly  undertaking, what some may see, as such a fool hardly venture, especially for a family man in his forties.Sometimes for no reason during the day I am scared. Thinking about the next time I will jump and about the jumps I have already done I am sometimes scared. If I think hard about a small but  realistic possibility of my family never getting me back I am scared, the tears running down my daughter’s unhappy face. But when I climb over a guard rail? That feeling..? It’s all business baby. The things that scared me now motivate me. At the point I cross a guard rail threshold it changes instantly from fear to full power. I HAVE to get this right and I will.

Swinging the second leg carefully over the side and pivoting to face outwards I can’t resist a look down,  The heels of my boots are all that can fit onto the 4 inch wide excess of concrete on the very edge of the bridge. I slide them between the upright balustrades to get a little extra purchase under them. My grip is firm on the uprights but not excessive. My nuts were probably bigger when I was 12.You don’t want to fall off the bridge. Any attempt to open a parachute with a bad body position will make it  open off heading and trying to open it while you are on your back will see you instantly gift wrapped inside it  for a fall to certain death. I can see people on the riverbank down below. They look smaller than my thumbnail. A small crowd of curious onlookers and jumpers has gathered in the bright sunshine on the bridge to witness and record the scene.Trucks and cars blow their horns as they see you climbing over. The locals here are used to this.

Is this the ultimate mid life crisis? Probably not .as I have always been one of the sort of stupid but sort of tough one way or another and  I have never really had to grow up fully. A little of having faith in the known and being prepared to stake my life on it is in there. I am a big fan of logic and demonstrable facts and refuse to make important decisions based on hearsay and conjecture.

 I also have the somewhat reassuring feeling that the older I get the less I am risking. After all if you die when you are 18 it’s a tragedy but in your later years its all, sniff, sniff, well you’ve had your fun Grandad, now lets see what’s in your will shall we? The sands of time. You see my point?  

      I understand every step of what I am doing from the packing to the pulling, to the putting away after on the jumps I attempt, or I won’t attempt them. At this point I have turned 2 down already as I did not know enough about the facts. At the point I climb over a guard rail have no fear because a I have done everything I can to keep myself safe apart of course from not jumping. At that point the only thing I’m aware of that can let me down is a weak exit, so it all business.

Standing on the wrong side of the bridge guardrail over the 470ft drop into the Snake River gorge I am somehow reminded of Margret Thatchers advice to George Bush senior just before the Desert Storm deadline back in the 90s.”...now look here George…” she tells him sternly over the phone, at this point she is not even PM any more”…this is no time to go wobbly.” I smile to myself…Iron fuckin bitch. I fix my eyes on the horizon..

 A strong push out into nothingness with no hesitation as soon as my exit position is comfortable leaves me totally calm. The commitment now of course is made and I can now only rely on me. In the past however I have always found myself quite reliable especially when it comes to pulling parachutes whilst plummeting toward the earth. I have in fact, a 100% record at this so it  is of little concern.  A nicely evolving exit trajectory, chest to earth with no rotation increases the peace even further. Everything is exactly as I hope and expect, and, after the first second, when I have fallen a mere 16ft,and with a whistling in the wind the ground rush begins. The laws of physics change at this point, stretching time and space to a slow crawl whilst my decent speed increases exponentially. 1.5 seconds and a gale begins to blow force 5.  Einstein is proved to be a genius in my little world, Isolated and alone as I can possibly be with so many people watching I have the weird, calming but obviously false feeling  as I  begin to reach to pull that I have all the time in the world. This is the feeling I have been told about that sucks people into the basement. Rare occasions when base jumpers go in without pulling. 2 .5 seconds… Force 10. The unmistakeable sound of rushing wind is increasing exponentially at this point so after a solid 3 second delay of course I pull, and nothing happens…or at least not straight away.

  Now I happily surrender to my faith in myself. All the decisions that have led me to this point are mine and mine alone.  My arms are wide for stability against the rushing wind in an almost crucifixion type pose as I imagine, just for fun, what looks like my almost inevitable death approach. At this point It crosses my mind that if I am wrong about something I’ll probably never know it,. and my sadistic new friends here, after a suitable period of mourning  of course (half an hour or so), will probably nickname me Wile Coyote. I watch and wonder for the longest way you could possibly stretch out the last 2 seconds of your life as the ground continues to rush ever faster toward me and the noise of the wind increases to hurricane force. This is punctuated not by a change in velocity but by the very slight but unmistakable (and I might add very fucking reassuring) tug of the pilot chute pulling the pins from the rig right on cue a split second later. With around 100 ft of the 500 or so you started with to spare the violent but welcome crack of the canopy opening re-aligns my cosmic cerebral sub atomic particles, returning me mentally to the realm of mere mortals once again. My first real time thought at this point seems to always be the same: Its about fuckin time that thing opened. It seems to have taken 20 minutes afterwards for these few short seconds to pass. The short uneventful canopy ride is soon over with a perfectly soft landing. Standing up unhurt again with a huge grin looking up at my base buddies screaming down at me from the bridge above after my 14th jump I know there is no turning back. I am a base jumper now.

I have been getting totally specked out on the new UP XC Summit provided in a cracking deal by Andy at Greendragons http://www.greendragons.co.uk/ ,the best glider I have ever flown (and I have flown a few), beautifully responsive and agile with excellent feedback when thermalling.(there you go mate, can I have my tenner now?) I am finding it a more than worthy successor to my veteran and now much loved Freex Arcane, (“that gliders rubbish!!!! it wont stay up when everyone else does!!! what do you mean I’m not flying it right!!!!!” me=ignoramus maximus) but getting back from an X.C sometimes is a real mission with lill suzy parked on launch so I think I will start to fly accro on the trusty freex again next week as most days have loads of lift, and top landing are quite easy with the biggest problem losing altitude and being picking your way through all the gliders on launch. Bring it on baby…..

Normal Service Is Resumed Now We Have Killed The Mice...

My repatriation to Spain in early March, however was timed to perfection (for a change). The dove has returned with the olive branch, the animals have left the arc two by two (“it was only a bloody month last time…someone open a window…!”…Noah) and normal service has been resumed, specked out for the first 10 straight days bar only 1.Almost fools you into thinking I knew what I was doing ,doesn’t it?. I am once again becoming familiar with many of the sites in the area and getting by with a little help from my friends…The local mountain here in Algodonales http://www.paraglidingearth.com/en-html/resultats_recherche.php pulls a breeze up in pretty well any wind direction as long as its light but is best in nil, s/e or s/w where it gets the sun all day. It also has a driveable north west launch, and a north east launch, but this is a 25 min walk. There is something for almost all wind directions when it picks up a little within 50km or so except a strong east which requires a 200km drive to Granada.The views over the flatlands from the sunrise and sunset launches include views of many of the other sites and they make excellent targets and markers for xc’s. With the town on two main roads on the compass points just follow one downwind. Lemon squeezy.

Earthquake Flood and Pestilence...

I remember seeing some pasty pale vegan(me=carnivorous maximus) prophets of doom on the idiot box predicting global warming was turning Spain into a desert just last year. Now I am as ready as the next one to accept climate change as fact (I can still remember all those years ago watching my Mum having to dig the snow away from the shed doors to get her old jalopy out every winter…you’d of thought at 25 I’d have give her a hand…*) but straight after a suit tried to sell me an energy saving ever lasting lightbulb for about £30. I think it’s a bit like religion...there's something in it…nobody really knows the truth...and someones getting paid. The previous rainfall record for a southern Spanish winter, December Jan Feb is somewhere in the 300mm range…this “spring?” as this page goes to press in early March it has already exceeded the 1200mm mark but at last shows signs it’s breaking…the landscape in Andalucia I have made home for the past months is as lush, green and unlike a desert as it has been in anybodys lifetime, and in the bright afternoon sun, resembles at first glance a particularly hilly Britian in the summer…on closer inspection however much of the terrain has changed permanently and biblicly in some places, with new spings and streams gouging huge erosion gulleys down hillsides and fields, forming new lakes in the lowlands and causing road devouring mudslides. The weather reports and forecasts showed torrential rain every week as far away as southern Morrocco…Even your barnacled seacaptain, mad as he was to fly all winter, thought discretion was the better part of valor, gave the order to abandon ship, (what I actually said was “fuck this…”) and went to England to escape the rain. Ha! England from Spain to escape the rain! That’s should seem as likely as travelling to a parallel universe where grass is blue, the sky is green and black people rule the world. Now I know I live in the twilight zone.

(*just joking…rip Mum)

Big Wheels Keep On Turnin...Primary Keep On Burnin...Rollin...

I don not use the word amazing very often..It has been overused in my opinion and therefore lost its impact...I once slept with a girl who told me the morning after I was amazing..."maam you are welcome ..."I said to myself inside a head swelling so much I had a stiff neck...when we finished our breakfast in the cafe she said "that was amazing..." "bitch..."my completely deflated ego said to itself..like I say...overused...this .season HAS been amazing but it is playing its swansong, the sun is further away in the cosmos every day. The heli practice continues for a while but although it’s still perfectly flyable most days gaining real height for manoeuvres is getting difficult. A slow but immediate release from the deep stall seems to work the best but it’s still very tough work getting all three stages, entry, rotation and exit right consistently. Weightshifting in the rotation also helps to keep it stable. Inevitably with learning this type of flying I do end up with another sick set of twists and a locked in spiral on one occasion, but it’s amazing how just having seen and been through something like this once gives you the confidence to stick at the recovery attempt that much longer. I decide not to back down from the bully after my previous experience and even though it’s hi G spiralling with twists I am determined to make a decent effort at kicking them out and within half a dozen or so revs I am able to untwist the risers, stop the spiral and regain normal flight. I am also so pumped with adrenaline by this time I let out a screaming celebratory yell that can certainly be heard through the entire valley and probably as far away as London. At this point I feel like fuckin superman. (this is more a reference to my state of mind than any sexual desire towards men in blue tights with belts round their outside undies)

Within a week or two the season ends in Organya and the rain starts to fall in earnest. Within a month or so the mountain tops will begin to turn white and the beautiful summer days and near constant sunshine I have enjoyed here for so long will be just a beautiful memory. The approaching winter has forced the native out of me and once again I must become accustomed to wearing shoes and shirts. I say goodbye to the many good friends I have made here who’s hospitality has known no bounds and have made me feel so welcome. Tentative plans are made for reunions on the rebound in the spring. Contact details are exchanged. My accro scoreboard goes something like this. Wingover/loop 100%, assemetric 360 100%, sat 100%, rhythmic sat 75%, dynamic fullstall 100%`, helico 35%, infinity tumble, don’t take the piss. I have learned loads.

My plan is to head south and spend the winter flying the coastal sites from Alicante to Aluminacar and the mountains from the Sierra Nevada to Andalucia. Southern Spain is the only place to be in Europe in winter and I am looking forward to spending lots of time honing my thermalling skills ready to attack the best sites Eastern Europe and Asia have to offer next year. I am almost shaking with excitement at the prospect of flying the mountains in The Alps, Slovakia, Pakistan and the Himalaya to name just a few. Watch this space.

I have no need to explain to you dear reader how much I love to fly and to be able to give and share this experience with others has gives me the same lovely warm feeling I get from buying a meal for one of London’s homeless or giving a gift to a loved one. Only more so. They spend the rest of the day staring skyward scarcely believing what they have just done even though they knew they were going to do it. It happened to me after my first skydive, my first flight and my first real xc. I’m sure if I HAD to get up early every morning to do this for a living this would pass eventually but I don’t, and I never bring money into it. Much like the part time teaching on the hill in the U.K the genuine heartfelt gratitude of the passenger is reward a plenty. I mean ,I had plenty of happy customers when I was working my regular job too but nobody ever reacted like that when I fitted their bathroom back in Blighty. Can you imagine...?...”OOOHHH I’m just soooo overwhelmed and grateful...that sink is just amazing!!!!....and those taps...!Please let me buy you loads of beer and dinner...”Sometimes it really is better to give than receive.