My Grandfather Part the 2nd

In his later years, my grand father was often faced with the prospect of attending the funeral services of his many friends. "I believe," he remarked on one occasion to a fellow mourner, "that this is the last time I'll take part as an amateur."After he gave up his aspirations to become a boxer, he then decided to try his hand at mountain climbing. A noted eccentric, my grandfather often summered in Brussels, Belgium. Why Brussels? My grandfather, for one thing, had developed a peculiar attachment to a certain chair in a particular outdoor cafe. However, he also appreciated Brussels, for another reason. It was well-suited, he explained, to serve as a base from which to organize a mountain-climbing expedition to the highest point in Belgium. "How high is that?" he was asked one day. "Twelve feet," he replied, "above sea level."

After great expense and preparation, my grandfather attempted to scale the 26,000-foot-high Nanga Parbot mountain in Pakistan. He got about halfway up and was eating a Pakistani bread called chapati, which was topped with flour, when the wind blew the flour in his face, causing him to sneeze. It resulted in a pulled back muscle that made further climbing impossible.

While confined to his death bed he remarked to me ‘you know son’, I said yes grandfather, ‘there are far to many sandwich shops at 4 lane ends’, he was right of course, and this was long before they opened a subway.