Archive for the ‘dec’ Category

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Without a paddle

February 3, 2008

My normally jocular friend Ant is somewhat down today and 10 hours sitting beside me in Economy probably hasn’t helped. So given his morose blog post I thought it necessary to come up with something cheerful.

We were chatting earlier about how amazing it is to have breakfast in London, lunch over Newfoundland and tea as we watch the sun set over a surprisingly cold looking Pacific. I’m writing this post from my seat on the coach that is winding its way from Vancouver north to Whistler along what is known as the Sea to Sky Highway. The road hugs the coast for around 70 miles before heading inland to Whistler-Blackcomb.

Looking out the bus window the views are nothing short of spectacular. Tall, snowy mountains tower over countless coves and inlets as small ferries chug back and forth as, what I imagine are geese, bob around close to the water’s edge. The views from the balconies of the expensive looking houses dotted precariously on the hillsides must be breathtaking.

Night is beginning to fall here in British Columbia and we’re still not at our hotel. We’ve been up for about 22 hours now and it’s starting to tell. Once we arrive we need to pick up our boards and maybe have a quick recce of the village. Ant has just turned around from the seat in front of me with a childish grin and declared that we are entering the town of Furry Creek. Maybe things are not that bad. Not bad at all.

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The Merry Band

January 26, 2008

L to R: Ant, Dave, Dec & Aggles

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Four go forth

January 6, 2008

Real men go on real holidays. Real men spend their winters hurtling down mountains strapped to flimsy, laminated layers of fibreglass and wood with a steel edge. Real men fly half way around the world in search of mountains with the perfect snow. Real men get up at dawn and trek up the mountains to ride virgin slopes before the lifts open. Real men spend après-ski drinking neat whiskey while chewing on K-rations. Real men, however, are not the kind of men you are going to find amidst the posts on this blog. Actually we’re not even sure if the following are even men:

Ant (aka Mushy) (aka The Doctor)
Well known in chemistry circles as a complete and utter charlatan, Dr Ant is perhaps best known for his 1665 treatise on the origins of the mythical Guinea Pig Man. Having being sent down for undisclosed charges in a Dutch criminal court, he promptly escaped to the Los Angeles underground. Today, still wanted by The Institute of Chemistry of Great Britain and Ireland. Proceedings, 1919. Part I, he survives as purveyor of herbal remedies to HRH the Duke of Edinburgh. Never destined for great things, Ant will spend the forthcoming holiday being extricated from snow drifts and teenage girls.


Aggles (aka Bingo) (aka Flo) (aka Dickie “The Dick” Dickinson)
The bastard son of a Danish social democrat and TV’s Cheech Marin, Aggles was, from his conception in a Volkswagen camper van in 1960’s northern California, doomed to be a left-leaning, bleeding-heart, overly-hyphenated liberal. Having spent his formative years propping up socialist regimes in South and Central America, Bingo has since settled down to a life of quiet contemplation in his beloved Putney where he likes to work on his Inigo Montoya impersonations. Usually one to bolt for the hills at the first whiff of a faceplant, Aggles will doubtless resort to skis about 17 minutes into this trip.

Dave (aka Ginger) (aka Ladykiller)
With a personality coming in on the colour spectrum somewhere between beige and taupe, Dave is perhaps best remembered for butchering his entire house at Harrow with little more than a soft bristled toothbrush and the sharpened edge of his wit. Always the bridesmaid and never the bride, Ginger’s dressing-up wardrobe has never been able to stretch to the full matrimonial outfit. When not xxxxxx xxxx-xxxx in xxx xxxxxxxxx Aggles, Dave is generally to be found stalking the public schools of England brandishing his Oral-B. Depressingly adept on a snowboard, one of his erstwhile travelling companions is bound to do him in sometime around Day 4.

Dec (aka Oddball) (aka Accident Prone)
With a background more inbred and right-wing than that of the Swiss Family Robinson, Dec is never more than three sentences from a full-blown international incident. While probably more at home in his spiritual home of the Alps, this child of empire will doubtless feel at his ease in the Queen’s Dominion of Canada. Always one to shy away from a fight, this Irish-born, girlie man will doubtless have severely injured himself by the time our motley crew reaches baggage claim. Look out for him on the slopes because he sure as hell won’t be looking out for you.