croagh patrick for beginners

Toiling down Croagh Patrick like the last of the Mohicans.
(You wot guv? - Ed note)
We pause at Break Heart ridge.
Rain and wind and all the rest.
With that rare courtesy of a true pilgrim, Bill hocks up a gully and spits into the air.
The flegm (Phlegm surely - Ed note) hovers briefly in a sort of stasis in front of my eyes, before the wind decides to hurl it away in the opposite direction.
"Thanks Bill," sez me bitterly. "Thanks for checking the wind direction before you did that. Thanks for not taking a chance it would simply blow back right into my face."
"Sorry," said Bill affably.
And on we trudged.

descent of men

Bill and I descending Croagh Patrick in a downpour having failed to reach the summit by, oh, mere inches, I'd estimate.
A wiry country man with a hewn scowl, materialises out of the mist and passes us on the trail, going down at a rate of knots.
"Did you make it to the top?" I call in his wake.
"Yes," sez he looking back.
"What's it like up there?"
My question seems to open a sort of floodgate of emotion for him.
"Waste of time," quoth he bitterly before positively snarling: "The so called famous view was invisible. With all this bloody mist, I couldn't see six inches in front of my face. A complete waste of time."