Everest Diary/Grania Willis: Our sojourn at Everest base camp has been extended. Originally, a week to 10 days had seemed likely to be the longest we would be staying before we headed back up the mountain for the final summit push.
But bad weather has forced Himalayan Experience boss Russell Brice to review plans and, with wind speeds exceeding 150km/h (90mph) above 7,000 metres forecast, our departure date for the higher echelons has been pushed back.
So Russell decided to throw a party. And when Russell throws a party, he throws a big one.
Everyone at base camp was invited and, such is his popularity among the mountaineering fraternity, everyone at base camp came.
The Sherpas and cook staff spent all morning in a flurry of activity. Lacchu, who is in charge of more than just the kitchens, co-ordinated food, as well as overseeing the transformation of two mess tents into a vast party space.
The facing ends of both tents were opened up and a huge tarpaulin was slung between them to create a covered dance floor that was still open to the elements on one side.
Chairs were drafted in from everywhere and, by the time the first guests arrived at 3pm, the prayer flags were up, the embroidered pictures of the Potala palace were in place and the dance floor itself hosed down to prevent dust once the action started.
Guests had been asked to bring national delicacies and music. And, despite climbers' innate fear of finger food due to its cross-contamination possibilities, soon everyone was dipping into Norwegian dried meat, Korean dried fish, caper berries and other exotica from around the globe.
But the Russians excelled. Not only did they bring delicious chocolates and champagne, but they also came bearing Stolichnya, the burning Russian vodka that conjures up images of glasses being dashed into fireplaces once the lethal liquid has been consumed.
We didn't have a fireplace, but the Russians were quite content to teach another skill - drinking the vodka from a glass balanced on a crooked elbow.
At one point a glass whizzed past my left ear, not because it had been thrown at me, but because Henrik, one of the Norwegian team, had fleetingly lost control of his elbow as he raised his arm to drink.
The Russians and the Italians were soon in a head-to-head battle to see who could come up with the most inventive way of drinking the vodka.
Not inventive at all, but certainly effective, was the way one of the Australians opted to consume his - and several other people's - share. He simply grabbed a full bottle and drank it by the neck.
Needless to say, all means of communication between his brain and his lower limbs was almost instantly severed.
Shortly afterwards, the dancing started. But Stolichnya did not prove sufficient inspiration for its imbibers to pick up the deceptively simple looking Sherpa dancing.
But neither did the more abstemious among us manage to master the art.
It appears to be a basic shuffle step, but even at its slowest, it is still desperately elusive and, as it speeds up, it becomes still more elusive and even more exhausting.
Even the western dancing proved beyond some of the more staunch Stolichnya sippers.
Sherpas found themselves torn between joining in the dancing and putting jelly-legged Westerners back on their feet.
One Tibetan climber, part of the all-female Chinese, Japanese, Taiwanese and Tibetan expedition, had her first taste of whisky.
Judging by her tale of a spinning tent later that night and a mega-hangover the next day, it may have been her last too.
There were all the usual party postmortems to be gone through the following morning .
But, after that, my tent mate Peggy Foster and I decided to take a walk to the remains of the Rongbuk monastery just below base camp.
From the ridiculous to the utterly sublime. From Stolichnya vodka spirit to pure spiritualism.
An ageing lama invited us into his inner sanctum where he and two other men were eating.
The original guests were hurriedly hustled out and we were motioned to sit, while Sherpa tea was poured out for us.
With the formal hospitalities over, the two of us were taken on a tour of the entire remains of the monastery, starting with an underground room, illuminated by butter lamps, where we felt the imprint of Buddha's foot and his handprint.
Then we were taken on a magical mystery tour of the rocks and crags, where we squeezed our way into the narrowest shafts which opened out into caves, decked with prayer scarves and other votive offerings.
And the lama, the gentlest of creatures, held or stroked our hands as we felt our spirits being reborn as we emerged back into the sunlight, clutching the rings he had given us, worth nothing but worth all the world.