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In England’s adventure capital, snow is a deterrent for no-one.

I am clinging awkwardly to a rock face, feeling like a pre-fairy-godmother Cinderella who has unwittingly stumbled on to a Spider Man film set. Thirteen stone and anchored below by my guide, Adam, who is of featherweight proportions, I wedge my walloping feet into holes the size of a matchbox and lurch my torso in the opposite direction to clutch at an opening. When I signed up for an adventure weekend in the Peak District, I was fully prepared for some physical challenges, but with my nose in the wall, I’m splayed like a fat gecko … and then it snows. Ice nestles upon my shoulders, in the crooks of my neck, it rests on my helmet and on my eyelashes, and I think to myself: “I didn’t sign up for this.”

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Action and adventure in the Peak District
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