So, this was the moment. We'd had a hell of a few days between us, we'd been down in Pangboche at 3900m six days ago or so. The weather was probably against us after tonight, it was now or never. No nice long rest option anymore.

Off I set, gently up on snow for an hour or so, steepening towards steeply sloping rock and slatey scree in the mid-section of the route to the balcony area at around 8450m. The Sherpa and I spoke little. I hated the change in nature of that route compared to 2006, when it was almost all snow to the balcony, albeit steepish. I could find no rhythm there, but didn't lose heart. Just kept at it through the darkness. Eventually we emerged from the rocky wilderness to snow-slopes that seemed vaguely familiar, and I craned my neck upwards for signs from the odd headtorch that the balcony was in reach. Eventually, and a bit sooner than expected, we were there, the exposed ridge revealing itself both by some new breeze, and the moonlight showing some big drops around etc.

There were a few climbers there, but they moved on up. The Sherpa wanted a rest there, and as he'd summitted with Andre just a few days ago, I didn't grudge him that! He said we should wait for Nadir and HIS sherpa, "for safety", but there was no sign of anybody behind us. Then he asked me if I wanted to go up or down...which was easily answered as I felt good...we were up in about five and a half hours, similar speed to last time, but we were well ahead of my actual time in 2006..  It was 2.45a.m. maybe. Dark.

Then we set off up, but after a few minutes he said his foot was cold, and when prompted, he said he thought he should go down because of it! I said that I wouldn't be going down, that this was my third time here, and that I felt very close again. I said he must go if he wanted, but that there may be trouble for him if I was left alone. I offered to radio Henry, at which point he rather grumpily said he'd carry on up.....five minutes later he said he was warm enough!

At this stage I was going really well, and we began overtaking a string of climbers in the area before the true ridge began steepening to where I'd quit before. One of them said, ' you're very strong", as I passed, rare words for me in recent years! Eventually we caught a small group of say 5-6 climbers with a Canadian leader who barked everytime anyone else touched the trailing ropes behind his group, and we were stuck there for the duration constantly. Very mature and considerate.

Fairly soon, as the dawn came quite quickly around us, we were at the point where I ran out of steam in the past....but I wasn't this time. There was a special moment to come here in my life. as we manoevred our way around a small bottleneck in the rocks, just where I'd turned before, I caught my sherpa's eye and smiled. The sun was still only on the topmost ridge area, the small peaks if Ama Dablam, Mera, Pumori, even Cho Oyu were just grey shapes poking above grey cloud far below. I said "this is good isn't it?", to which he replied, simply, "yes". I then said, calmly enough, looking him still in the eye, " We're going to do this aren't we?".  He just said "yes". That was a sweet thing there.

Up we continued on mostly snowy ridge now, and I could see the cone of the South Summit above us, supposedly with the most difficult rocks to come just short of it...but they never came, and suddenly we were seeing the famous view of the final summit ridge, the Hillary step, and apparently the true summit. The sprawling Canadian managed to impose on my version of that famous photograph, but he won't spoil the moment. Surely now it was going to be done?

The Hillary step had 4-5 people splayed across it on various bits of rope, and my "summit fever' is the only explanation of why I joined the fray, hopefully not literally. It wasn't hard at all. At this point I started to have a visual hallucination, pleasantly, but a sign that all wasn't going to be quite right later?! On the ridge in front of me two figures in downsuits turned briefly towards me and smiled maniacally( only in hindsight do I realise this means they had no masks, or had both pulled them well down!))...it seemed to be Nadir and Greg, whom I was catching up after all! As we all completed the famous last section of ridge, nearing the summit, they seemed to rest tantalisingly ahead of me several times, without quite letting me catch them...which was annoying, but I just plodded on. Near the actual summit, I picked up a rock, and observed the 10-15 down-suited figures sat huddled on the summit, and I sat down nearby. Only then did I recognise that a stiff, very cold breeze was stinging my ear badly, and even with hat and hood up I needed to cover the left ear with a gloved hand. There was no sign in the crowd of Greg or Nadir, which puzzled me. I have said it was 7.22hrs, but my camera later suggested it was 9.22hrs.!!!

I really was there. Somewhat against the odds I'd say. I did not cry, which surprised me, as usually if something's important, I can't stop crying. I had thought about what it would be like to be in this space for most of my adult life...and now I knew. It was very cold!  I thought of my family, my two son's, people I'd known who had been here, people who had not. I thought of the great Dougal Haston, Doug Scott, Chris " the hardest thing I've done" Bonnington. The view was great, of course, but I was looking inside, and back, no doubt.

I was happy enough, but more bemused that I'd managed it at all, and where were Greg and Nadir? Eventually I got my camera out from inside my down jacket..and with dismay I noted it was covered in a film of ice. It didn't want to work at all, and I nearly had NO pictures, but the Sherpa insisted on trying to warm it up better, and took a few pictures later on(the mask-on ones!), after I'd wandered about still looking for the lads. I was quietly about to lose the plot, I really was. I did ask to use the radio to call Henry, but was told the battery was no use. This seemed a shame.

As it as so cold and windy, I had no chance to ring the satphone as hoped, neither for the audioblog, nor to speak to my sons...they'd always been ambivalent about a call anyway, being wise enough to know that it's such a long way back down to safety, and that most accidents are on the way down etc. It truly does seem an enormous, unnaturally long way down when up there. Just look out of the plane window on the next clear day you get!

After maybe 20 minutes of this strange existence, my ear hurt more than my muscles, and it was a good idea to start back down. We slowly set off down, and after maybe half an hour of slow progress(queues), it seemed to me something wasn't right with my legs, nor my head. I couldn't see properly, blaming both misty goggles and possible drying out contact lenses. A strange climber tried to hug me as I sat resting in the snow, and it turned out to be Nadir...approaching the summit...he had been behind all along. I remained a bit puzzled. He said later I seemed a bit "odd". My vision seemed cloudier and cloudier, and amongst the visual and intellectual fog that was engulfing me, I could tell something not very good was starting to happen...I thought it was dehydration more than anything...but my remaining litre of water inside my downsuit was, as predicted, frozen solid! I asked other climbers for a contribution..they didn't even reply usually.

This didn't seem very good. My sherpa took to shouting at me like I was a drunkard somewhere about this time, to which I remember replying that I was sick, not drunk. I was sick.

I just recall reaching the South Summit, getting very short of breath before then, going down the Hillary Step, and feeling frightened accordingly.

After that, I effectively have no proper recall of what I did until maybe 8 hours later, when we seemed to have reached the relative safety of the South Col tents...all I recall is being endlessly "woken up" by the sherpa shouting, hitting my back, goading me etc etc. Nadir was apparently soon with us, and I have various odd memories of him seeming out of things and getting similar abuse, but he remembers me as not being too bad myself...just the lights on and nobody in, it seems! Between them, those sherpas saved my life I know. I must have been having some cerebral oedema, which covered the visual loss too.

I only really came to in the dark in Camp four  at around 2 a.m., curled up in my downsuit in a tent with Nadir and three sherpas, all asleep. It was like waking up in an ICU. All the vague memories were swilling about my head, including the impression that maybe I'd summitted Mount Everest...or maybe I hadn't after all. It was all very odd indeed. As I turned on my uncomfortable bit of tent floor, I felt my camera, still deep in my suit, and "remembered"  the photos taken on the summit. I carefully switched it on to see what pictures would be found, and there it was.... the numpty summit picture with the mask on. I knew then what was real, and what had been "a dream", more or less.

I had done it, it wasn't all a mistake. It nearly killed me maybe...but it hadn't, and now I was going to be fine. I just had to get down somehow, and everything would be just fine.

Thank you Lhama Geshi. Or someone.....