Day 1 - Lords, Flights and not much sleep

I was too excited to sit in traffic, particularly peak-hour traffic as we crawled along the banks of the Thames and past the running-route we'd used several times in the preceding 6 months to get fit for our trip of a lifetime.

Truth be told, none of us really knew what to expect from the mountain, let alone if any of the fitness would be enough, or even of any of use, as soon as we hit altitude. It was probably this fear of the unknown, and some good old-fashioned child-like excitement, that meant neither Blinky nor I could sit still as we inched ever closer to Heathrow.

Earlier on we'd gathered at Lords for send-off Press Conference. It was all a very slick affair, with everybody in playing kit. Mountaineering legend Rebecca Stephens gave a speech in support, and Vicks read a statement from The Queen wishing us well. We posed, we pandered, and Kiwi pretended to catch any ball that Michael Vaughan hit in the nearby nets.

In the haste of the morning before Hillary jetted off, I was handed some important documentation pertaining to the IT equipment visa's and filming permissions etc for Tenzing's equipment. Turns out it was actually for both teams and whilst I blissfully bopped away to my overly-loud ipod on the 253, my phone buzzed with urgent calls from Kirt and Glen to get back to Lords ASAP.

Some furious packing ensued once I'd gone home via the camping store (a quick note, has anybody managed to walk out of a camping/outdoor store with change from £50?). Following some head-scratching, some worry, a fair dollop of swearing, and some manipulation of my bag and the items inside it, and some helpful lightening of the chocolate load from my flatmate Jules, I managed to stretch it beyond its limitations and creak the zipper shut.

At Heathrow, the physical evidence of the logistics behind the trip was on show. Countless Bags and boxes full of kit dominated the entry to Terminal 3. Branded fleeces, beanies etc through to medical, IT, and filming kit, and of course a couple of big bags full of cricket kit were all checked-in at the Qatar airways desk. What ensued over the next 10 hours was an all-over annoying experience. The girl behind me gave an out-loud stream of conscious 5-hour long monologue on everything she was seeing, hearing, feeling, touching, smelling, tasting, thinking, looking forward too, not looking forward too, expecting, and not-expecting on her all-inclusive holiday to Sri Lanka. What also was plainly obvious is that check-in counters don't really take any notice of who's sitting where. I was allocated an exit row seat, and all 6 foot 18 of Mike Preston was squeezed into normal window seat. Having fought with my conscious I swapped with the big fella in the knowledge that at one-stage, our version of the bionic man was likely going to have to carry me up the mountain.

On to Kathmandu after a horrific stopover in Doha (I'd rather set my eyeballs on fire than ever go there again, luckily we had the Tenzing Bible to keep us entertained), we emerged weary and confused to our first sighting of Nepal in the early-evening. Strangely enough, it was exactly how I'd pictured it. The sights of poverty and dilapidation on the streets, the colours, the smells and the haze were exactly how I'd imagined it. Looking at the nonchalant cows wandering busy roads, manic driving, and iimpossibly overcrowded buses and cars, and the seemingly impromptu markets on the sides of the streets offering haircuts, 2nd-hand shirts, and corn, it reminded me of a more densely populated and shamble Morocco. It was definitely a shock to some of the boys who hadn't been to a third-world country before, and there plenty of gasps and laughs at the wild lane-changing, horn-heavy, safety-last precautions of the driving. I wouldn't be surprised if the learn-to-drive handbook in Nepal suggested 14 different ways of avoiding an accident, none of which mention slowing down. A particular favourite was the father nursing his infant child on the front of his motorbike, the child pretending to be driving with his hands on the handlebars.

Zombie-like, we turned up at the sister hotel of where we had initially booked (our booking... for 54 people and extra cargo... had somehow gone missing). For the first time we got to meet some of the guides for our trip. Nir, Prem, Prakash were all-present, and had made up a banner for us that they drove with on front of the van through the streets of Kathmandu. For about 40 minutes I agonised over what to take on the trek with me. After some pretty expert packing, I had all my stuff ready for the next morning. The worry of knocking off the task of packing my rucksack had now gone, but in it's place the worry of the trek grew larger. I'd budgeted for closer to 10-12 kg and was actually carrying closer to 17.

Next up on the list was the money exchange, which involved a cabride in the dark into the main tourist districts. As we setoff, I mentioned to my cab-mates Blinks and Breck that this was going to be an experience. And it didn't let us down. Think Back to the Future 2 and you're about halfway there. There were 2 very frightening experiences, one of which had my flinched in the crash position as a car on the opposite side of the road pulled out onto the opposite lane to overtake... unbeknownst to him our cabbie didn't have his headlights on so didn't see him until the last minute. With a minimum of fuss, order was restored and I required a change of underpants.

Armed with over 20,000 Rupee, we headed back for a soothing, Glycerine-Infused beer (Because of the lack of refrigeration in this part of the world, Beer generally comes with a whole lot of Glycerine added to preserve it longer in the hot conditions. Whilst not affecting the taste too much, it gives you a wicked headache the next day if you consume too many), and sat down to our first local meal.

Food Watch: Tarka Dahl and Vege Curry. Nobody touched the Chicken on offer.