My interest in Marilyns began... about 1998, although I cannot really remember. Looking back through the records it seems that my total of hills below 600m started going up when I had climbed about 300, so I must have discovered the RHB book. Before then I had already been delving into the less-mainstream world of Yeamans and deleted Donald Tops. Nowadays, I like the exploratory satisfaction that can be achieved by climbing hills that are not mentioned in any guidebook and I make sure I avoid web research until after the event. It is not exactly Tilman and Shipton forging a route into the Nanda Devi sanctuary, but it keeps me happy and out of mischief.
My favourite Marilyns are... hard to say - there are so many wonderful hills out there - and my favourite tends to be the one I have just climbed. Some of the craggy west coasters south of Oban are amazing: wee bonsai hills, perfect miniatures of the mountain stereotype; an hour or two in the fresh air with the chance of spying a sea eagle. Of the grown-up Marilyns it would have to be Blabheinn for reasons I am sure you all already know.
My least favourite Marilyns are... equally difficult to say. I remember the light-hearted slating that Irvine Butterfield received for describing Meall Ghaordie as something like quite the dullest hill in the southern Highlands. So I answer this question with trepidation if at all. In contrast to many other folk I quite enjoy the physical and mental challenge of a bit of forestry-bashing or knee-high tussocks. Sneaking past potentially irate landowners adds an attractive frisson to any expedition. However, in general, wet shoulder-high bracken really gets me down.
Do I keep Marilyn bagging a secret? I tend to stick to Len Deighton's need-to-know principle in this matter. And I would definitely not mention the subject on a first date.
I... once banqueted in the Great Hall of the People with the prime minister and president of China.
