You Might Be a Wainwright Wanker If...
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Let's be honest. You didn't set out to become that person. The one who can name all 214 Wainwrights in alphabetical order. The one who checks the weather forecast for Helvellyn more often than your own postcode. The one whose idea of a romantic weekend involves an OS map, a packed lunch, and arguing about the best route up Scafell Pike.
But here you are. A certified Wainwright Wanker. And you know what? There's no shame in it.
You might be a Wainwright Wanker if:
Your bookshelf is 90% Wainwright guides
You own multiple editions of the same book. First editions, reprints, the anniversary box set. You've got A Pictorial Guide to the Lakeland Fells volumes one through seven, plus the Outlying Fells, plus the coffee table book, plus the one you keep in the car "just in case."
Non-hikers have wine collections. You have Wainwright collections.
You've ticked more peaks than Tinder matches
Your phone is full of summit selfies. Blencathra? Tick. Haystacks? Tick. That obscure lump near Kentmere that barely counts as a fell but Wainwright included it so you had to bag it anyway? Double tick.
You've got a spreadsheet. Colour-coded. With notes on weather conditions and which pub you visited afterwards.
You refer to hills by their Wainwright number
"Fancy doing Book Two, Number 12 this weekend?" is a perfectly normal sentence in your household. Your non-hiking friends think you're speaking in code. You are. The code is obsession.
You've had The Argument about Striding Edge
Is it a scramble? Is it a walk? Does it count if you went up the tourist route? You've had this debate. Multiple times. With strangers. In pubs. While sober.
You have Opinions. Strong ones.
Your weather app is permanently set to Ambleside
You don't live in Ambleside. You don't even live near Ambleside. But you need to know if it's raining on Fairfield right now. It's always raining on Fairfield.
You've done a Wainwright in wildly inappropriate footwear
Because you were "just popping to Keswick" but then you saw Catbells and thought "well, I'm here now." Trainers, jeans, no waterproof, half a Twix in your pocket. You summited anyway. You're not proud. (You're a bit proud.)
You judge people who haven't completed them all
"Oh, you've only done 87? That's nice." sips tea judgmentally
You know you'll never finish them all either. There's always one more. That's the point.
You own more OS maps than the Ordnance Survey
OL4, OL5, OL6, OL7. Laminated. Dog-eared. Covered in pencil marks and tea stains. You could navigate the Lake District blindfolded. You probably have.
Your perfect Sunday involves 3,000 feet of ascent and a cheese sandwich
Flat walks are for quitters. If you're not gasping for air by 10am, you're doing it wrong. The reward? A slightly squashed sandwich at the top, eaten while perched on a cairn, wondering if that's Windermere or Coniston in the distance.
Spoiler: it's neither. It's low cloud.
You've been caught checking your Wainwright app mid-conversation
Someone mentions Red Screes and you're immediately Googling which book it's in, the height, the best route, whether you've done it yet. The conversation has moved on. You haven't.
You own at least one item of clothing that says "Wainwright" on it
T-shirt, hoodie, cap, or-if you're truly committed-a mug that calls you out for exactly what you are.
Embrace Your Inner Wainwright Wanker
Look, there are worse things to be obsessed with. You're fit, you're outdoors, you've got excellent map-reading skills and a deep appreciation for Alfred Wainwright's meticulous pen-and-ink drawings.
Sure, your non-hiking mates don't get it. But they also don't get to stand on top of Helvellyn at sunrise, watching the light creep across Striding Edge, feeling like the only person in the world.
(You're not. There are 47 other Wainwright Wankers up there with you. You all nod respectfully and don't make eye contact.)
So go ahead. Tick another fell. Plan another route. Bore your friends with stories about that time you got lost near Angle Tarn. Again.
And do it all with a brew in hand, preferably from a mug that celebrates your obsession.
Because if you're going to be a Wainwright Wanker, you might as well own it.
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