Road tripping part 1: climbing French-styley

It all started a couple of weeks ago when Nate at work asked if I was interested in going to Québec. Well, I thought, I’ve not got long to go in this country so if I can get another Province under my belt, I probably really ought to. ‘Hell yeah!’ was therefore my response.

Arbraska, the treetop trekking company I work for, own four more parks in Québec (we’re the only one in Ontario) and we decided to try to climb all – or at least some – of them. Throwing our gear (including our own harnesses, carabineers and pulleys) into the boot of the car, Nate, Janna, Steph, Kerri and I set off on Sunday night and drove to Ottawa (Capital City of Canada – but you knew that already, didn’t you?) to stay the night at Janna’s place out there. Kerri proved that she was indeed great in bed, as the rumours would have it, by not once encroaching on my space or stealing the blankets. Early next morning we awoke and set off for Rigaud, just west of Montréal, to begin our climbing. We threw ourselves into the deep end by starting with their extreeeeme course, called La Rafale, which was ridiculously high up in the trees and included some bizarre and very challenging games. For example, one was called The Flyswatter, and involved tying yourself to a rope then jumping off a platform about 60ft off the ground, falling and swinging simultaneously before being flung hard into a large net about 50ft away from where you started. I’ll freely admit that as I stood there preparing to jump, I began to feel a long-forgotten sensation. Fear it is called, I believe. I’m so used to running around in the trees, and find our courses at work so easy these days, that it was lovely to feel shit-scared again.

Once we’d finished La Rafale, we got back into the car and went into Montréal itself to find our boss’s apartment, which he’d kindly offered to lend to us for our trip while he was on holiday. Bags offloaded, we continued north towards Rawdon, where the second park was to be found. They had a particular climb we wanted to do, called a Via Ferrata, which is basically a rock climb, but you follow a set course via a cable, to which you attach your carabineers. We were told we weren’t able to do the Via till the next day, so instead we climbed a couple of their harder courses before heading back to make dinner, play a few rounds of ‘Cruise Marry Shag’ and crash rather earlier than planned.

The next morning we got to Rawdon for 10.30am and made our way to the Via Ferrata with our Guide, Gizmo*. We had replaced our equipment for some with longer lanyards and had also brought along a slower pulley, because the ones we’d brought from home were too fast for the ziplines that we would be doing here. We began climbing in excellent weather but soon enough it began raining and then we heard the occasional roll of thunder off in the distance. We carried on climbing, ready to abandon if necessary, and got through the three courses with relative ease, but much fun. We ended up at the zipline back down the cliff face and Gizmo went down first, followed by all my fellow climbers. I went last, put my special pulley on and jumped…only to find my pulley jerking and slowing. Then, halfway down, it just stopped and I was left dangling. Damn! I turned myself around and went to pull myself in but then heard my friends yelling at me to try my own pulley which was still on my tool belt – of course! Swinging my legs up and over the cable, I began the process of clipping on my pulley, removing the dodgy one and clipping it back onto my harness. Trying to do this with one hand, dangling some considerable distance above the ground and making sure I didn’t drop anything - all the while hearing the thunderstorm approaching - took a fair bit of effort, but eventually was able to release my legs and zip back down to the ground. Hurray!

Via completed, and the thunderstorm well and truly putting an end to further climbs, we decided to head back into Montréal and do some sightseeing. Vieux Montréal was beautiful and we ate Beaver Tails (big flat doughnutty things with cinnamon sugar, yum) as we strolled down the streets. We ate delicious Greek food and happened across a Salsa bar, where we sat and watched a live Salsa band play and people dance. I realised how much I missed Salsa dancing and texted Ali, my neighbour and Salsa partner, who now lives out here in Calgary, to tell him so.

Next day we had a leisurely start, brunch in a café, popped by the Arbraska office to pick up t-shirts. We had intended to try to get to one of other parks, but the two hour drive to the east, before a further 8 hours drive back home, didn’t appeal by that stage. Instead we decided to go back to Rigaud, which was basically on our way home, and try one or two of their other courses they had to offer, and this we duly did, not getting home till 1am.

‘The Weekend’ as it was known, was an awesome success, filled with hysterical laughter from start to finish. Much junk food was consumed, musical tastes shared, random comments made, intoxication occurred, new catch phrases coined; all the classic elements of a good weekend away. I relished being able to use my (somewhat rusty) French. I’d love to have been able to tell you some of the other carryings on, in all their sordid details, but what happens in Québec stays in Québec, on this point we were very clear…

Up for work the following morning – calls of ‘Scampy Pamphlets!’ and ‘Scroggage!’ echoing through the trees between guides** – then home to pack and leave for road trip no. 2…

*All the French guides have special trekking names, which we decided was very cool indeed, and we will try to instigate back home. I'm Cougar, naturally, Kerri (who is 6'1") is now Big Bird and Nate is Little Boy Blue, due to his baby blue eyes...
** You had to be there...

Offical petition response

I've much to tell you all, given that I've just come back from two back-to-back roadtrips. However, I haven't got it all together just yet so instead (how annoying am I at the moment with my lack of posting?!) I'll leave you with this, which I received this morning. A while back I signed an official government petition, the full details of which were as follows:

We the undersigned petition the Prime Minister to make Jeremy Clarkson Prime Minister. Jezza is legend and deserves a chance to run the country.

Today we all received an official response from 10 Downing Street which said:

We thought long and hard about the request to make Jeremy Clarkson the Prime Minister and in the end we put our thoughts down in a short film on YouTube.

Flat for rent

I want to post properly again soon but in the meantime I just wanted to ask if anyone reading this is interested in renting my beautiful flat in Weybridge, Surrey? Ian & Debbie, my friends and current tenants, are moving out in October so I'm very keen to find someone to move in as soon as they go. If you - or anyone you know - might be interested then either email me or leave me a comment as I'd rather it went to someone I know... Cheers!

Incidentally, exactly one month today till I fly home. Booooo.

Cregan's wedding

Well they've only been and gone and done it. Megan & Craig were married on the beach at Tofino this afternoon: the weather was perfect, everyone turned up who should have (i.e. bride, groom) and there were tears at both the ceremony and the reception (mainly from me). Location was amazing, speeches were emotional, food was fabulous. More importantly, I was able to be there when two of the loveliest (and funniest) people I know got
married, so that was perfect. The sea and wind meant that it was hard to hear what was being said at times, so when Megan said her own specially-written vows to Craig, no one could but Craig could hear what she said to him - though we could see it made them both cry! - which seemed apt somehow. It felt a bit like the end of Lost in Translation.

More photos here.

And in a tremendous stroke of luck for myself, I am now in Megan & Craig's recently-vacated bed in one of the Cottages at the Long Beach Lodge which they were sharing with Joelle & Tyler (having now moved to a room of their own to get a little more, ahem, privacy). The bed itself is about the same size as the entire room at the hostel - I'm considering sleeping on it sideways just because I can. Can't say I'm sorry to leave the hostel; I find sleeping in a room with three strangers a little like the aftermath of a particularly uncomfortable four-way...with no actual sex as a benefit.

Whale of a time

I know you probably won't believe me, but the picture on the right is actually of a grey whale. Honestly. I mean, how close did you think we were going to get?!? Actually, we got a lot closer than my pictures seem to suggest. I even got a picture of a whale upping tail and taking a dive, but I swear to god you'd have to max out your furtive imagination to work out that the tiny black dot on that photo was a whale's tail, so I thought I'd go with this one, even though it is hardly much better. Ah well, we saw 2 grey whales, a bunch of sea lions and a few sea otters to boot, so I'm certainly not complaining. We also managed not to look remotely ridiculous in our red floater suits* and had a cool time bookin' it across the waves catching tons of sweet air**, so a damn good day all round. I did, however, neglect to wear waterproof mascara (a good tip for any of you who plan to do this in future***) and so ended up looking like I was off to an Alice Cooper tribute evening, but hey ho.


*no, really, we didn't. You're wrong.
**can you tell I hang out with teenagers alot?
***yes Silas, I do mean you

Jet setting once again

A quick jolly over to Vancouver Island (which from Ontario, time-wise, is roughly equivalent to flying back to the UK, so hardly a short hop!) for the wedding of Megan & Craig, a.k.a. Cregan, is this week's news. The wedding is this Thursday, but I flew in today to go whale watching with the wedding party tomorrow. The Vancouver to Vancouver Island leg of the journey was taken on the diddiest plane I've ever been on, where having a window seat was your only option, since there was only one row of seats either side of the plane with a very narrow gap in the middle. There was nowhere to put the small suitcase I had as hand luggage - no overhead storage - so I asked the man standing at the bottom of the stairs, who I assumed was cabin crew, what I should do with it. "Do you have a laptop or anything valuable in it?" he asked "Not really" I replied. "I'll just pop it in the back then" he responded and promptly disappeared under the wing to put it in the 'boot' for me. Then he climbed into the plane and made his pre-flight announcements, sans tannoy, while wandering up and down the aisle. Given that there were only 9 rows, this hardly strained his voice. He then settled down in the front of the plane and proceeded to fly the damn thing too. Now THAT'S multi-tasking.

I am the only member of the wedding party not staying at the gorgeous resort where the wedding is taking place. The $260 per night price tag was a little prohibitive for me, so I opted instead for the Clayoquot Field Station hostel, which is just round the corner and somewhat lighter on the wallet. It's clean and new, very nice indeed for a hostel, but still has 3 strangers in my room which I always find a bit, well, odd. And slightly unpleasant. Oh well. I have free internet so all is good really. And this evening I drove into town in my hire car, bought fish & chips and drove down to eat it while watching the sun set over the pacific. Vancouver Island, I should point out, is exceedingly beautiful.

Fingers crossed that the whales behave themselves and make an appearance tomorrow please.

Musings on mosquitoes

Back home in the UK, we do have mosquitoes. Particularly where I live, right next to a lake, we can sometimes feel like they're invading. They come out in as dusk hits, and occasionally we even have one or two that get into the house, and every few days you might get a bite. I thought this was annoying. Ha.

Here in Canada, mosquitoes are a way of life. All windows in all houses have screens on them so you can open them without letting in the bugs. No matter what time of the day or night, they're there. The moment I step outside of my front door, I'm attacked. Hundreds of the buggers descend on me like they've never seen an English person before (and indeed, they probably haven't). You can almost hear them buzzing 'fresh meat, fresh meat, fresh meat'. Working in the trees doesn't help. 'Off', or equivalent bug repellent spray is not an option but a necessity. Despite this, a day does not go by when I don't get one or two new mosquito bites, usually on my legs or arms but sometimes in awkward places like the middle of my forehead. They are ridiculously itchy. I put antihistamine stuff on them and it makes no difference. When we go back into the bush behind our cabin, I swear to God I look like Pigpen from the Peanuts cartoon with hundreds and hundreds of the buggers buzzing round my head. Even with long trousers, long sleeves, my hood up and throwing my arms around like a windmill I still get bitten several times. As many of you may know, I have an across the board 'no-kill' policy when it comes to animals and insects - I won't even kill a fruit fly - but the mosquito is a notable exception. I will squish them on sight whenever possible.

It has left me pondering as to the biological advantage that leaving itchy poison in their victims has given to the mosquito. I mean, if they didn't itch me, I wouldn't be that bothered if they bit me. Surely, then, they'd get more to feed on? And if we weren't always trying to kill them, they'd live longer? Is it to do with population control do you think? Suggestions in my comments box please...

Creepy crawlies

Finally had a chance to bring my laptop into town and am sitting in a cafe, using their free wi-fi. Thought I'd give you an update while I'm here:

Isaac & I now have leopard geckos. Their names are Zoe - though we call her Zozza in tribute to my friend Zoe/Zozza back home (hi Zozza!) - and Mungo. That one was my idea. They're really cool, they sit on your shoulder quite happily while we potter around the house, though Zozza does have a habit of climbing up your hair and sitting on the top of your head. We fed them yesterday and watching them demolish a bag full of live crickets is far better entertainment than telly, I can tell you. Everyone loves them, except Isaac's mum who isn't too keen. Her thoughts on the matter were: 'I thought you two would have better looking children'.

I've now qualified as an aerial guide for the Treetop Trekking park and love my work.
Well, you can hardly call it work, I climb trees for a living! The guys I work with are fabulous and we have plenty of get-togethers planned over the next couple of weeks. Every day I get into my harness, put my helmet on, strap on my walkie-talkie and bugger about in trees all day. The insects can be brutal, but it's worth it. And hey, life is never dull when you have a veritable assortment of mosquito bites to scratch.

On the subject of insects, we have an ant infestation at the cabin at the moment and I have been advised by my friend Lisa that if I want to get rid of them, I have to ask them to leave. Hmmm. Well, the RAID doesn't seem to be working, and I'm getting desperate, so when I get home I'm planning to sit down for a little pow-wow with my anty friends and ask them if they wouldn't mind visiting someone else for a bit. The other night, just before I went to bed, I had a glass of iced tea (my new favourite drink). I didn't quite finish it so I put the remaining drink next to my bed in case I was thirsty in the morning. I got up at 6.15am, when Isaac gets up for work, to go to the loo and before I got back into bed, took a big swig of iced tea. A couple of hours later when I got up for work and it was now light, I glanced at the glass only to see about 30 ants swimming in it. Now, much as I'd love to imagine that they'd only just crawled in there, I think it's unrealistic to assume so; I could have freaked out at drinking ant-juice, but instead decided to think of it as a small protein shot. Still, I was sure I could feel wriggling in my stomach all morning.

T'interweb withdrawal

Firstly, let me apologise. I feel as though I'm letting you guys down a bit recently, with my very intermittent blogging, but the problem is without wireless for my laptop, I'm having to use Isaac's parent's computer, still on dial up (yes! it still exists!) and will only connect when it jolly well feels like it thank you very much. I have so much to tell you, and yet it's so difficult for me to do so goddamnit.

So rest assured, I'm more than fine and dandy. I now live in a cabin in the woods, with no television and water that comes straight from a stream. I love it. Isaac & I are having a ball, getting on like a house on fire; we've been bush driving, preparing our fishing tackle, socialising and generally making our own entertainment.

In yet another preconceived notion-shattering event, we had our first dinner party in the house the other day. Me, and three teenage boys. And what, do you suppose, did we have for this dinner? Pizza? Burger and chips? No no no my friend. Reilly prepared a
hot oil fondue AND a hot stone, with steak, giant prawns and calamari, potatoes & mushrooms. It was incredible. Then he insisted on washing up too. What a superstar. Then yesterday, we had our first barbecue. Me, and 10 teenage boys. We had moose, naturally. Isaac & busied ourselves being consummate hosts and cleaning up around people, so by the time everyone left (which was before midnight, despite today being Canada Day and therefore a public holiday) you'd never have known we had had a party.

I'm so proud of my boys. Life is good.

You know you're turning into a Canadian when...

• You no longer see ridiculously huge trucks as ridiculous. Or that huge.
• You look out for a Tim Horton's everywhere you go and get very excited at the thought of an iced cap.
• You call an iced cappuccino an iced cap.
• And you can order an mocha-chocca-frappa-cappuccino (made with 2% please) without blushing.
• You no longer get quite so irritated with the plethora of adverts on the telly. Still pretty irritated, to be fair, but not so much that you want to kill something everytime you try to watch Friends.
• You start thinking 'Oh it's only a 5 hour drive - we should pop over for the day.'
• Muffins start to seem like a legitimate breakfast food.
• You no longer get shocked at the smell of marijuana in public places.
• You automatically take your shoes off whenever you enter someone's house without having to be asked
• You take the piss out of people from Saskatchewan and whenever you meet someone from Newfoundland you automatically think of sodomy.
• You start saying 'regular' coke instead of 'normal' coke.
• You stop laughing everytime someone says 'eh?' at the end of a sentence.
• You no longer turn back when you see a dead skunk at the side of the road just to get a better look/smell.
• You accept that plug sockets spark alarmingly when you plug something in without panicking that there's something wrong with the electrics.

HOWEVER:

• I shall never stop finding the word 'fanny' funny
  
• I shall never refer to visiting your holiday home as going 'cottaging'.

(Shortly after typing this post, I popped into the bookshop at Edmonton Airport - whose free wi-fi I'm currently using, thanks guys - and saw a book called 'How to be a Canadian' by Will & Ian Ferguson. I took it as a sign. I bought it. I'm reading it. It's very funny indeed.)

Regression and the story of Ontario Part 2

So on the Friday evening, Isaac, Jordan & Matt arrived to pick me up. Isaac, with big hair, bandanna and shorts pulled down so far they were practically round his knees, turned up looking just as gangsta as I hoped and I took a running leap into his arms to catch up with a month's worth of missed hugs.

We drove north towards Orillia, where the boys live. By the time we arrived at Isaac's parents' house - after a stop off to Jordan's to meet a heap of other friends - it was dark. I approached the house with no expectations and was quickly blown away. We crossed the bridge to the house with Isaac turning on fairy lights left right and centre. There was pond, a treehouse, a zipline, a trampoline, a hot tub, a waterwheel, and that was just on the outside. At every stop I kept saying how it was the coolest house I'd ever seen but with every turn it just got cooler. Eventually, when we got to Isaac & Reilly's floor, Isaac opened the door to the bathroom and showed me a cage above the bath. He said 'Do you want to see Reilly's hedgehog?'. 'STOP!' I shouted 'I'm having a cool-overload here!'

The next 10 days passed by as if in a lovely dream. Imo & Mary Lyn, Isaac's parents, are fabulous and couldn't be more hospitable. Reilly, Isaac's younger brother is great and almost forgave me for stealing his brother from him. Isaac's friends - Hale, Mike, Tyler, Smokie, Porter, Dylan, Philly Cheese Steak and the ever-brilliant Jordan - are a good bunch and I enjoyed hanging out with them.

But here's the thing. Most people, when they go on holiday, go to a place. Maybe France, maybe Italy, maybe Butlins. But slowly, as time went on, it dawned on me that I'd gone on holiday to my teens.

Let's look at the evidence. I was hanging out with teenage boys. While out driving with Reilly, the gangsta rap was cranked up to the max and the sub-woofer in the boot was pounding out the bass*. We admired sweet trucks we saw. I never had to cook (except when I made my banoffee pie for the family). My washing was done for me. I didn't clean. I rode the zipline. I bounced on the trampoline. I went to bed late. I got up late. I was, on at least one occasion, trying to hide my (slight) intoxication from Isaac's mum. We drove through the 25 acres of bushland at the back of the house in the middle of the night in a 4x4 and got stuck in mud; we left the truck there and walked back. We hung out in car parks. We drove down to the port and wandered along looking at huge boats.

It was great. It was just what I needed. And I fell in love with the house and the lifestyle the terrain afforded. Isaac & Reilly grew up with no telly, running amok in the bush and building stuff. On one bush walk Isaac suddenly said 'Would you like to see our Door Fort?' 'Your what?!' I laughed. 'Our Door Fort. A fort Reilly & I made from doors. Why is that funny? he asked. 'Oh, no reason,' I replied 'we all have one of those in London.' We also walked past a random shed-type thing somewhere out back and inside was a beautiful handmade wooden boat complete with engine. 'Oh Reilly built that when he was 10' I was told.

After a week or so, I mooted the idea of staying with Isaac. 'What if, I didn't go back to Banff?' 'Really? Would you stay? Would you?' He seemed pretty keen. The next day I had lunch with his mum and mentioned my idea to her and she immediately offered for me to stay with them for the summer. Instead I asked if it would be possible to rent the cabin next door to their house and she said yes straight away. The following day she called me when I was out with Isaac and asked me if I would be interested in a job she'd just come across at the place where she worked, working as a Treetop Trekking Guide, and if so, she'd be happy to drop my CV in for me. My decision was complete.


The last couple of days I was there Isaac & made a road trip down to go to a birthday party for a friend of ours from Sunshine (Jess) down near Toronto (Mississauga in case you're interested). We then went on to Niagara Falls to spend the weekend - doing the Journey Behind the Falls and the Maid of the Mist tours. It was fabulous and it made me realise I had so much new to discover in Ontario.

So here's to it!

Pictures of the coolest house in the world here. Niagara photos here.

*At one point I suddenly became hysterical with laughter and when asked why, I said 'I've just realised I'm IN one of those cars that, when it passes me back home, I think to myself 'what a bunch of twats!'

All change! and the story of Ontario Part 1

Well do I have some gossip for you.

I have lots to tell about my time in Ontario, which I suspect I'll do over 2 posts, but I'll start by telling you the big news that my summer plans have changed.

As you may remember, I was planning to work the Calgary Stampede with Chelsea, then go back to work at CMH, the heli-hiking company, as a bus host for the summer in Banff. However, after falling in love with Ontario after my holiday there, I've decided instead to move there for the summer. I have blown off my CMH gig - Traci my would-be boss there was fabulous about it, told me that I'd not burnt any bridges and that any time I wanted a job with them, summer or winter, I was very welcome to come back - and am not going to work the Stampede either, which did look amazing but will have to wait for another time. Instead, after packing up all my remaining stuff in Banff this morning and taking the bus to Edmonton to stay with Megan & Craig again (the poor things must feel like the long-suffering parents to a repeatedly prodigal daughter), I'm flying back to Toronto on Monday. I'm going to be renting the (small) house next door to Isaac's parents - Isaac will join me there - and have applied for a job as a Tree Top Trekking Guide at the Horseshoe Resort, where MaryLyn, Isaac's mum, works. I've already had a telephone interview and they reckon I'm a shoe-in, but have a proper interview next week and will start training straight away if successful. Isaac is getting a car - well, actually a big 4x4 truck - ready for me to drive to and from work. I am going to be a redneck for the summer, and I'm proud.


So I should tell you how this all came about. Well the story starts when I arrived in Toronto to stay with my cousin Tine, who hadn't seen for something in the region of 15 years, and her husband Chris. She picked me up at the airport - waving a small Danish flag of course! - and drove me back to her house in Newmarket, around an hour out of Toronto. The house is lovely and my mini-break there began in great style with a BBQ. She has 2 sons, Michael and Shane, who are 21 and 17 respectively, who were lovely, so polite and thoughtful (to me at least; I'm sure, like all brothers, they can be a right handful at times!) Tine & I talked and talked and talked for hours, catching up on all the family gossip on both sides.


The next couple of days saw me shopping with Michael, popping in to see where Tine works, being dropped off in Toronto for a day's exploring (great city, and it reminded me more of London than any other city I've been to), dinner at the top of the CN Tower (where the food was stunning), more BBQs and bike rides and walks in the sweltering and humid heat.

The Friday happened to be Shane's Prom. I know this is starting to become a popular thing back home but here it is firmly established and, after a photo shoot at home to get pictures of Shane in his suit (in 35 degrees the poor love!), we all headed over for pre-Prom drinks at a school friend's parents house. The house was ENORMOUS and they'd catered for 150 school kids and parents. The kids looked amazing, though I dread to think how many hours of preparation and dollars went into making then look that way! We waved them all off in limousines, and made our way back to Tine & Chris's house to wait for Isaac, Jordan & Matt to pick me up for the next leg of my holiday.

Just by way of explanation, Isaac worked with me in Guest Services at Sunshine: we considered ourselves the A-Team. We had the same days off so we became very close and confided in each other about all aspects of our lives out in Banff. We began each and every day with a huge hug - often for long minutes at a time - and this got us into trouble with our boss, Susan, who didn't like us being so close. She was clearly insanely jealous, though whether it was me or Isaac she was jealous about, we never established. Towards the end of the season we actually got banned from hugging, then from talking to each other, which of course only made us more determined to find ways and means to carry on regardless. I'd met his parents when they'd come to visit and got on famously, so when they'd asked me to come and visit them in the summer I jumped at the chance! Isaac had had to leave Sunshine nearly 3 weeks before we closed because his staff accommodation was withdrawn. I had offered to put him up at the Beaver, but with the new people coming in, we weren't sure if they'd have told on us to the landlords, so we didn't want to risk it. So he headed back to his parents' place in Coldwater, Ontario but we stayed in regular contact and we missed each other terribly. Jordan is his friend from back home who'd also worked at Sunshine, in the rentals tech shop with Gravy, and whom I also adored. Matt is their friend who I hadn't met. I was sooooo excited about seeing Isaac again and knew we'd have a fabulous time - he'd taken 10 days off work to spend time with me - and indeed we did.

Part 2 to follow...

Connection problems

Sorry I've gone incommunicado for while - I've been staying at Isaac's with only occasional (and rather slow) internet access. Will try to post properly in the next couple of days, because I have much to tell about my crazy adventures in Ontario. Or Onterrible as it's known. Very quick summary: Stayed with my cousin Tine, who I haven't seen for something like 15 years, for a few days before being picked up by Isaac, Jordan & their friend Matt, and have been at Isaac's parents for the past 10 days in their fabulous fabulous house, with which I'm totally in love. Now just arrived in Calgary for Stampede training and hope to meet up with Ali (my neighbour and dance partner) tomorrow, who's just arrived here too and go back with Megan too.

Bear with me

So yesterday saw Pepe & I leaving Banff and venturing up to Edmonton, leaving a small present for the remaining members of the Beaver Massive on the coffee table. We decided to take the route along the Icefields Parkway, which is renowned for being picturesque, but the last time I drove along it you couldn't see diddly squat, due to low cloud cover and Pepe had never done that particular route. So after cramming all my stuff into the car - you should
have seen the look on Pepe's face when he saw all my stuff! But only because he had tons too - we set off. We knew it would put a couple of hours on our journey, but thought it would be worth it for the rich and soul-nourishing views.

Well I reckon it was. It took us 7 hours but along the way I saw not one, but TWO bears (which Pepe was heartily unimpressed with: "So it's a bear, get over it! It's only a small one.") and a moose. Sadly not a chocolate one, but you can't have everything I suppose. Pepe was far more excited when we saw a few cars had stopped at the side of the road (usually a sign there was 'nature stuff' around) and saw that some guy had got his car stuck in a ditch. The French are a strange breed indeed.

Weezer pay tribute to the stars of YouTube

I shall blog about my somewhat exciting but long journey to Edmonton tomorrow but, in the meantime, enjoy one of the best music videos around from the ever-brilliant Weezer.

Last night of Beaver

Done.

Feels strange to be leaving the Beaver, but I suppose it isn't really the Beaver anymore. We have so many new housemates - who are alright but do some very annoying things like moving our stuff, throwing our stuff away, blocking up the kitchen sink with rice and playing Christian power ballads loudly at 7.30am outside my bedroom - that the good old days of the Beaver, a place where everybody knows your name, seems long gone.

Even Starla is stripped bare and has been returned to the gimp hole. I bet she'll be thinking of the good times - when she was dressed up in outlandish outfits and repeatedly groped - too.

We're going out tonight to the Elk & Oarsman, because it will be the last time I'll see Gravy & Zander (who are also moving out today). Then, in the grand tradition of things, we'll head off to a bar and I'll watch them all get rat-arsed while I sit back and treasure the memories.

[quick update: just had my inspection done, which determines whether I get my damage deposit back. My bedroom floor was 'dusty' apparently (even though I had both swept and mopped it, but I made a point of doing it again while she was there to show the pitifully small amount of 'dust' I managed to pick up) and there was also some 'dust' under the television in the lounge. They're coming back tomorrow to check this has been cleaned. I'm being charged for the repair done to the shower screen - despite it having been damaged since before I moved in - which amounts to the cost of the parts replaced by our landlord himself: 2 tiny track rollers and some sealant. Divided, presumably, between all four of us living here. If it comes to more than a couple of dollars I swear I'm taking a brick to their window. They also considering charging me for the cost of repairs to the small lavatory (that had been leaking) which I don't use. I should know in 10 days how much I'm getting back. Great.]

Irrational behaviour

I'm pretty much done with my packing and have confirmed something I already knew about myself: I am shockingly bad at throwing stuff away. No, seriously. I've packed both my big suitcase and my little one too, for taking on my travels over the next month. Full to the brim and, given the absence of scales in this house, I can only pray I'm not over on the weight limit. I've got a bag full of ski clothes to leave at Megan's house (she doesn't know that yet, so I hope she doesn't mind) as well as 2 ski bags: my skis, poles, boots, snowboard & snowboard boots in one and Megan's skis and poles that I borrowed before I had my own in the other. I also have another set of skis which I intended to sell, but there's no point in doing it right now, better to wait until the start of next season. Again, I hope Megan doesn't mind. Thank goodness she has a basement. I also have a set of 3 boxes filled with general gumph - twinkly lights, books, DVDs, that Jagermeister bottle, that sort of thing - that I want to keep hold of for when I come back to live in Banff for the summer. On top of this, I've given a huge IKEA bag full of clothes to Rory, who lives downstairs, to keep hold of for when I return to Banff and another huge bag to Chelsea containing my cold weather boots and...well that's the thing. I can't even remember what else it's got in it, and I only packed it an hour ago. What is wrong with me? I should be able to choose the things I really need and throw away the rest. I'm going to have to do it at some point, because I can't take it all back to England with me. I have even put together a bag of stuff I really don't want anymore, which contains about, ooh, four things. Pathetic. Christ knows what Pepe is going to think when he turns up on Sunday and I can't fit everything into his car - I can only hope he's done a better job than me of consolidating his possessions.

My only (slight) justification is that the extremes of temperature here in Canada mean I've accumulated a ton of stuff appropriate for very cold weather/skiing that I just don't need now it's warm and sunny, but that I don't want to throw away because if I come back for the winter I'll need it all again. But realistically, I'm just a hoarder. I know I am. I'm terrified that if I throw away that hoodie, for example, that that is EXACTLY the hoodie I'll need, desperately, next week. I know it's irrational, but it's true.

Sigh. I really am rubbish.

Packing up again

This is what happens when you try to sort out 8 months worth of accumulated crap into 2 suitcases. It just ain't gonna happen. I'm having to develop 4 main categories: stuff to chuck, stuff to keep hold for when I come back to Banff for the summer, ski and snowboard stuff that I won't need till next winter (and only then if I stay here to work - not much use for it in England) and stuff to pack into suitcases to take with me to Edmonton/Ontario/Calgary over the next month. My 'stuff to chuck' pile is far smaller than it ought to be, because I can't bear to let anything go. I mean, I'm even keeping hold of a small empty bottle of Jagermeister, even though it wasn't ever mine because I don't drink Jagermeister, just because it's small and therefore cute. Damn me.

My room gets inspected at 6.30pm tomorrow evening by the landlords (to see how much of my damage deposit they can screw out of me, the bastards - they have previous on this so I'm not just being paranoid) and so it needs to be done by then. I leave for Megan & Craig's Sunday with Pepe, who is a French Canadian friend who needs to get to Edmonton and who has a car but no licence - as luck would have it, I have a licence but no car!

Okay, procrastinating over, back to the grindstone.

Cruise, marry, shag

You know how, when you discover something new and exciting you get a bit obsessed with it? Okay, I'll rephrase that. You know how when I discover something new and exciting I get a bit obsessed with it? Well, I've just discovered Gavin and Stacey. I say 'just' because I only watched the first episode the night before last and I say 'discovered' because somehow when the first series was on it totally passed me by. Probably because I was going around packing up my flat and being homeless and so on around that time. Nevertheless, having watched and loved the first episode, I've just spent the last 2 days catching up with both series - thank GOD for iTunes - and laughing so hard I'm fairly sure my housemates think I'm clinically insane. I've also downloaded a whole bunch of music from the fabulous soundtrack and have put together my own G&S playlist. Now of course I want to quote it insufferably, though as no one out here has seen it, I'd just get blank looks all round, so I'll just have to keep it to myself. I'll try at least. No, I can't. I really can't. I have to let just one out.

I won't lie to you, it's tidy.

Reds are green

Hahaha. I just went to see Indiana Jones & The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, which is a frankly ludicrous film, but entertaining nonetheless. However, on my return I noticed on the BBC website that the members of the Russian communist party are calling for it to be banned on the basis that it "distorts history". They said that teenagers watching it would be "completely unaware of what happened in 1957" (when the film is set) and that "[events in the film are] rubbish... In 1957 the communists did not run with crystal skulls throughout the US."

Now I'm fairly sure that the Russians have a point here and that communists did not run with crystal skulls throughout the US (or indeed throughout Peru, which is where the running with crystal skulls actually takes place in the film). I'm also pretty sure that a bunch of Hobbits never walked all the way to Mordor to throw a magical ring back in to the fires of Mount Doom, that Michael J Fox never went back into the past and then back again to the future in a De Lorean and I'm pretty damn sure a giant ape never climbed the Empire State building, but it doesn't mean we haven't enjoyed watching films about such events in the name of entertainment over the years.

In the words of Boney M: '"Oh those Russians".

Ride 'em cowboy!

Just a quickie to say both Chelsea & I got offered jobs at the Stampede as bussers (people who seat customers, chat to them, then clear up when they go) in the Budweiser tent, which was not quite what we wanted, but all the bartending & serving jobs had gone already, despite it only being the second day of 2 weeks of interviews! We've accepted them - there will be some tips though not the big bucks we were hoping for - but I'm also pursuing an alternative avenue of bartending jobs through a friend of some guy I met on the bus back from Sunshine a few days ago. Hey, you gotta try everything, right? But if that doesn't come off, we'll go with what we have. Incidentally, and much to my amusement, my job offer sheet actually says 'Position: Bus'. I do hope this doesn't mean I have to offer free rides...

In other news I've just finished A Spot of Bother (the new book by Mark Haddon, author of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time) which was absolutely superb and I heartily recommend it. Brilliant characterisation - the best written child I've ever read - great story, pin sharp observations and hilarious to boot. Utterly unputdownable, if such a word exists, which, if not, it should. It made me feel terribly nostalgic for home, because it's so very, very English, and as such, so dry I would have to advise you not to smoke around it.

The end and the beginning

The Slush Cup at Sunshine traditionally signals the end of the season and provides the opportunity for an enormous piss-up, for both staff and guests. This year was no exception.

I hadn't quite got my head around exactly what the Slush Cup was. I knew it was a bunch of competitors, who were dressed up in weird & wonderful ways, skiing down a hill towards a pool of water in the hopes of getting across it in an upright position. What I hadn't worked out was how big the run up was, how big the pool was and how wet I'd get sitting next to it. It was great, and I had enormous fun, but wished I'd remembered Susan's advice to bring a spare pair of shoes and socks. Frozen tootsies aside, the party afterwards with the hog roast and the fire in the car park was awesome.

Good thing I don't drink, of course, because I had a job interview this morning for Canadian Mountain Holidays. After an hour of chatting about everything from midwifery to mechanical engineering over a nice cup of coffee, I was offered the job as Summer Exchange Co-ordinator, which is basically the person who gets guests and their luggage onto the bus in Banff, rides with them to the heli-pad and sees them off for their heli-hiking excursions. Then I will gather up the group of weary travellers who are arriving back from their trip, and bus them back to Banff, all the while on-hand to provide useful titbits of information about the Rockies and their inhabitants. Not difficult, but takes a certain kind of chatty, organised person*. Of course the fact that this is also the same company who does heli-skiing, and that they have already said that opportunities to work with the company over winter may well arise, has little to do with how excited I am about my new job; oh no, I was swayed by the fact that during the bus journeys I can eat as many muffins as I want. Read it and weep. I start as soon as I finish working the Calgary Stampede, assuming tomorrow's job interview goes well of course. As always, gentle reader, I'll let you know.

Slush Cup photos here.

*i.e. me

Those darn teenagers, eh?

Just had a guest in to buy tickets who, during the course of our transaction, discovered I was English. He obviously wanted to show off his impressive knowledge of our slang terms, so told me that he had told his daughter, who had come skiing the previous day, to use sunscreen, but she had refused. "So now she's at home wanking about her blistered nose..."

I managed to prevent myself laughing in his face but when he followed up with "But that's 13 year olds for you, isn't it?" I really couldn't help myself.

To infinity...and beyond!

I have new hair. I'm quite pleased with it, and it wasn't extortionately expensive either (though not cheap either, when you're on the kind of money I earn out here). It had got ridiculously long (not been cut since last August) but quite straggly with it, and two-tone (not the record label) since it hadn't been highlighted for nearly a year. So now at least I feel like I have a bit more of a hairdo, if you know what I mean.

Sunshine closes on Monday. So only one more weekend of work - officially I'm off on Monday but I'm going in to work for a couple of hours before going up the hill to watch the Slush Cup, which I understand is unmissable. People launching themselves across a big pool of water on skis, dressed as farmyard animals and the like, that sort of thing. Then, at the end of the day when the guests go home, the staff have a big party with several spit roast pigs. Sounds excellent.

And what next? Well, my (somewhat tentative) plan for June is to visit Megan & Craig, before heading to Ontario - possibly via Quebec to meet up with my friend Fiona who'll be there for a conference - to visit my cousin Tine who I haven't seen for donkeys' years, then up to see the very lovely Isaac, the delightful Jordan (both of whom worked at Sunshine, Isaac with me at Guest Services) and Isaac's wonderful parents* to spend my birthday 'mudding'. Can't wait.

Following this trip I will be heading back west. Chelsea & I have interviews next week for work at the Calgary Stampede (the greatest outdoor show on Earth!) which will be taking place for 10 days in July, so fingers crossed we get the jobs and make a bit of cashiola. Then to Vancouver Island for Megan & Craig's wedding at the end of July. And then....well I'm not sure yet. I have to leave when my visa runs out on September 4th but could do anything up till then. Suggestions on a postcard** please...

*His dad is called Emo. Seriously! How cool is that?!
**that means my comments box, obviously

Food for thought

Following on from the other evening, when JK & I sat and talked nearly all night about food we missed from back home (though he's now gone home and is probably eating it all, the lucky devil), here's a list of things I crave:

• Good, tasty, fresh bread. Almost all bread out here is largely tasteless, slightly sweet, with a strange, airy, spongy texture, which goes stale within a day. You can't even spread butter on sliced bread - even toasted! - without it crumbling. Oh for a Sainsbury's multigrain loaf or a decent baguette.
• Nice Brussels paté. Or a chicken liver parfait. Or duck liver paté with port. Or any decent paté to be honest.
• Decent strong cheddar. I've managed to find one at Safeways which isn't too bad (it tastes of something at least) and there's a deli here that does some really nice cheeses (including St Agur, which I just had for lunch), though it's criminally expensive. A wheel of Epoisse is $25! This is what passes for 'normal' cheese out here and it's revolting.
• Branston pickle. After years of not eating it because Cross & Blackwell was owned by Nestlé, when they sold it I was very happy I could re-indulge, particularly with a strong cheddar on Ryvita, but now I can't even buy it. I heard a rumour you could buy it in President's Choice supermarket but there's not one near here so what good is that to me?
• Cranberry & blackcurrant juice, which was my main tipple back home. Ocean Spray don't sell that particular combo out here, the closest is cranberry & grape which is foul. There's no really nice, easy to buy cartons of juice here - everything's sweetened to destruction - and though you can buy nice frozen concentrated orange juice*, it's a bit of a pain to mix and store it. Anyway, end result is I tend to buy and drink tons of easy-to-reach-for cans of Coke, which I hate doing as it makes me feel dirty. I can almost feel my cellulite getting worse with every sip.
• Curry. Indian food is not a big thing here, there's only one curry house in Banff, which is expensive, and the one time I ate there I was very disappointed. It all just tasted blah. Didn't even do nice poppadums, just the baked ones, and there was no lime pickle or raita in sight. I can buy and fry my own poppadums, which are very nice but takes up time, effort and mess, so is a bit of a pain when it's just you. But Kate & I used to have 'poppadum evenings', where we'd make up a huge stack of them and scoff the lot with yoghurt dip. Good days, good days.
• Gü chocolate soufflé. There's nowt like it.
• Chocolate digestives. They do sell them for $4 for a small packet in Canmore but I can't get there very often.
• Rachel's Organic Greek Style coconut yoghurt. Rich, thick, creamy, coconutty. What's not to love?
• Mozzarella. Now, you can buy mozzarella over here, but it's a hard, usually ready-grated cheese to put on pizzas, that bears no resemblance to a ball of soft, delicious buffalo mozza. Oh how I miss its creamy goodness.
• And for that matter, Parma ham. Not seen hide nor hair of the stuff.

That'll probably do for now, though there are inevitably many others that I can't bring to mind just now. There are things out here that I think are just as good if not better than back home - cupcakes for one - but they're few and far between. No wonder I'm actually losing weight at the moment.

*do you remember Waitrose used to sell this back in the day? I used to eat it like a sorbet. Yum.

They think it's all over...

Just when you thought it was safe to go back into the t-shirts... we woke up yesterday to several inches of snow. Only a few days ago I got sunburnt sitting out of the terrace having a BBQ (see left), wishing I'd brought some shorts to Canada with me; the Rockies have a tendency to do this sort of thing apparently. It continued 'puking snow', as they say over here, all day. This is known locally, incidentally, as a 'big dump' (with somewhat different connotations to those it might bring to mind back home). Today, however, the weather was warm and sunny, and it was fascinating to see how quickly it was all melting again, here in town at least. Walking* along past the shops, the snow melting at breakneck speed down from the roofs made it appear to be raining. Hard. Below are pictures of the morning and the afternoon outside the Beaver to illustrate my point.

Personally, although I've heard lots of people complaining about the winter conditions returning, in truth I love the snow. That is what Banff means to me, a snowy little mountain town, so even though the warm weather, and its concomitant benefits of not having to think about the adequacy of thermals, hats and coats all the time, has been most welcome, I still miss the snow. It makes everything beautiful, pure and exciting. I see a field of virgin snow and always want to run around** in it, or make snow angels.

So, taking my life into my own hands with crutches on icy pavements, I made my painfully slow way to the hospital this morning for a check up. It turns out my recovery is going very well indeed, they x-rayed me again and said the break was not really discernible now, hairline, if that, and that the reason it's still so painful is that I've torn my gastrocs muscle. I've been booked in for physio starting next week, have been advised to start trying to walk on it and wean myself off the cast (I have a removable sports cast). So all in all, recovery going well. Hurray!

*okay okay, hobbling
**yes yes, a girl can dream, can't she?

Not with a bang

Where the hell has this last week gone? Well, I can tell you actually. It's passed in a blur of hobbling around on crutches and painkillers, unable to weight bear, or carry anything, or shower (don't worry, I am still able to wash), or cook very easily, or go out anywhere without it being a major effort. I feel like I have called in every one of my favours from my friends and would rather stand and eat something at the work surface than have to ask one of my housemates to carry my food into the lounge again. I have gone back to work, for the 2 weeks remaining of the season, which is fine but frustrating whenever a guest asks me to do something that involves getting up from my seat. They see my crutches and feel guilty, and say it doesn't matter, and I say no it's fine and hobble off, but then feel guilty for making them feel guilty.

It doesn't help that most of my friends have now left Banff. Those of us who remain are growing smaller in number by the day and I feel very alone all of a sudden. Now Darrell's gone home (never to return incidentally) I don't really have anyone to hang out with, as all of those who remain already have - or have recently formed - partnerships of one form or another which occupies their time. I can't climb, so Chelsea has had to find alternatives to me to belay her. I can't ski, so I have the big, empty house, with its limited charms, to myself on days off while everyone else goes off to make the most of the snow whilst it remains. I can't bring myself to look through old photos at the moment, because I sometimes feel the almost palpable nostalgia for how great it all was such a short time ago will kill me. I could feasibly go out of an evening as long as it's nearby, or I could take a cab, but the opportunity has yet to arise. Days off are spent watching endless TV shows - thank God for iTunes BBC/C4 downloads - and trying to chat to far-flung friends on facebook, and the evenings differ little. If I weren't so goddamn gimpy, my seemingly limitless frustration would have me running for the mountains.

And so the season ends. Not with a bang, but with a whimper.

My Beaver is broken; I have a broken Beaver

Today Kate, Laura, Andrew & Sparkle all left the Beaver for pastures new. Kate is going back to the UK for a brief visit (to get her fill of Scottish men I'd wager) before heading home to Perth, Australia; Laura & Andrew are heading to Andrew's home of Newfoundland for a spot of Meet The Parents before also going to Australia to work as snowboard instructors for their winter; Sparkle is heading home to Bristol. We've had such a good crew here, we've all been so close, that it's hard to imagine that they're not going to step out of their rooms and watch Friends, South Park, Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares or Flight of the Conchords with us anymore. The Beaver, and Banff itself, will never be the same without them and the Queens of Beaver, as seen above, no longer rule as one.

To Kate: there has never been a better person to sit in the kitchen with at 6.30am and moan about how awful it is getting up at that time of the morning. I'm so glad we managed to get you in as our flatmate ("she's quite quiet, but she's very sweet when you get to know her") and want to thank you for being the best kisser in Banff. Wear the green top often and think of me.

To Laura: I'd never have ended up at the Beaver if I hadn't met you first on the way to Canada from Heathrow. You're the most rank* chick I know and I'm going to miss you and your surreal sense of humour hugely. You have always very kindly and enthusiastically laughed at my jokes and for that I'm extremely grateful.

To Andrew: your hugs might have made me cry but I loved every one of them. Thank you for your relaxed** way of always making me feel better about everything. Your testicles shall remain unsurpassed. I hope you get a bit more sodomy action now you're back in Newfoundland.

To Will, a.k.a. Sparkle Barbie Horse: you are quite simply one of the most amazingly talented and naturally funny people I've ever met. I'll never forget the night you found out just how old I was. Thank you so much for the lovely things you said to me then, on Australia Day and last night; they meant so much and right back atcha baby.




I'm missing you all so much already.





*Laura insists this is now a good thing
** or quite possibly stoned

Hardcore

And now, ladies and gentlemen, for your delight and pleasure, courtesy of my friend Isaac, here is a picture of me skiing out of the Dive on a broken leg:



If you look closely, you can actually see me gritting my teeth.

The agony and the ecstasy

Yesterday I finally achieved my last ambition of the season: to do the Dive. Delirium Dive is Sunshine's extreeeeeeme freeride terrain and I felt like I was the last person in the world - or at least among my circle of friends - to do it. Even Darrell did it a few days ago with some friends of mine while I was stuck at work and when Kate came in yesterday and mentioned she'd just done it, I knew I had to get up there asap. I was planning to do it today with Zander, but when Isaac offered to take me there yesterday afternoon I was determined to 'get her done', as we say out here.

In order to go to the Dive you have to go with a partner, be carrying an avalanche beacon (and know how to use it) as well as a probe and a shovel. I borrowed a friend's and we headed up at
2pm for our ride break. I got nervous as I reached the top - the drop in is ridiculously steep and you really don't want to fall there because you'd just keep going! Took me a while to get into the jump turns on the steeps but, with a bit of
side slipping thrown in, I was soon getting the hang of it. We were having a ball - it was so hot I even stopped midway to take half my clothes off and Isaac threw huge snowballs at our boss Casey, who'd joined us. Then, when we reached the relatively flat run out, we decided to gun it though the powder. Fatal error.

As I zipped through the still very deep but tracked out powder, I managed to catch an edge. I took a big tumble and felt my leg twist as I did so, though to my surprise my ski didn't release. I sat for a moment afterwards and realised my right calf was really rather painful, but assumed it was just muscle spasm. I got up and tried to ski down, it was hurting but if I put all my weight on my left foot and didn't turn much, I was able to get down to Casey & Isaac. The pain started getting worse, but I still had to get out of there, so I kept going with Isaac's help, doing the difficult bits on my bum or walking. When I got back to the piste I was able to straight line it down to the gondola station, which was very painful but what choice did I have? Got on the gondola, but by the time I got off, I was in agony. Still reluctant to acknowledge it could be anything other than muscle damage, I got back to Guest Services with Darrell's - who was waiting at the bottom for me - help (piggy
back!) and got changed. Went to walk back to the bus and realised that I couldn't walk. I asked Darrell to get ski patrol for me. Larry from ski patrol arrived promptly, did a few tests and said he thought it could be broken, so a wheelchair was obtained and I was wheeled to the infirmary to be splinted. I sat outside in the sun with Andrew, a fellow skier who had landed badly off a jump in the terrain park, waiting for my lift to the hospital (no ambulances here for us foreigners with no health care cover) and to cut a long story short, yes, the damn leg was broken. A classic skier's 'boot top fracture' of the fibula, in case you're interested.

I'm still in a lot of pain - back to the Percocets for me! - and unable to do a goddamn thing for myself, but can't say I'm devastated. I mean, I've managed to do everything this season I really wanted to do. I learnt to ski, I did my Level 1 ski instructor's course, I've had awesome road trips to Big Mountain, Fernie, Castle and Revelstoke. I had a go at snowboarding and even bought a board, despite not really liking it very much! And I finally did the Dive. There's only 3 weeks of the season left and yes, I won't be skiing, but I've had such an amazing season to date that I have to be damn grateful. And far better that I broke my leg doing the Dive than on some tame green run.

Darrell bought me a badge, which says: Delirium Dive: No Guts, No Glory. I couldn't agree more.

BBC in sense of humour shocker

Has anyone else noticed that when you play the new, embedded videos on the BBC website, the volume scale goes up to 11?

Revelling in it

So our trip to Revelstoke can only be described as a huge success. We got off to a good start when, on our journey there through an area called Beaver Valley, I glanced out of the passenger window only to see a huge black bear wandering along at the bottom of the hill to our left. We all leapt out of the car (it was a fair way away from us I should point out) just in time to see it disappear into the woods. My first bear! The drive that we thought would take us around four and a half hours, in fact only took just over three, and our motel, the Super8 was clean and pleasant, with the additional bonus of a hot tub and swimming pool. So far so good.

So when we first arrived at the resort and saw the dirt showing through the snow at the bottom and the driving rain we were crushed. Why did we come this late in the season when it was clearly going to be rubbish? We rode the gondola up with a certain amount of reluctance. We'll just get through a day here and we can always head home tomorrow if it's rubbish, was our thinking. We didn't, of course, bank on the 18cms of new powder at the top, our pick of fresh tracks through the trees and a skier count of around 25. Within minutes we found ourselves whooping and hollering our way down the super steep runs, trying our best to avoid hitting trees (Darrell almost succeeded) and had a blast. Kate & I got some more footage for the skiing/snowboarding video we're making, '40 Fanny Stacks'. The lunch was awesome - some of the best pasta I've had in ages (farfalle with creamy pesto, prawns, spinach and red peppers. Yum). We sang Mr. Big's 'Next To Be With You' and Flight of the Conchord's 'It's Business Time' incessantly. On day 2 Darrell & I decided to hire some powder skis just to see if they worked better in the Revie conditions and, though Darrell got on well with his Head Monsters, my Head Sweet Fat Thangs were horrible. They were heavy and reluctant to turn, so I took them back after 3 runs and got my own sweet Bandits back and it confirmed to me how much I love them! Sometimes I feel like they're not even skis anymore, they're merely an extension of my feet. And what big feet I have.

A few days and much story-telling to those who were unable to make it later, and plans were made for a second Revie trip leaving the following Sunday. Amy, Chris, Gravy, Zander and Mr Ed were added to the original Revie trip veterans of Darrell, Chelsea & myself, 2 more cars hired, rooms back at the Super8 booked and off we went again. A hilarious journey there featured 2 walkie-talkies, much
Corona/Skittlebrau* imbibed**, mooning at slow drivers (and each other***), Russian roulette with the Hoosiers (don't ask), 2 restaurants refusing to let us in (both claiming to have 'run out of food') and Darrell taking the longest wee ever at the side of the road. Revie had lost more snow from the bottom and had less at the top, but we still had a ball bombing down the steeps before heading back home that night. Top time had by all. Again. See all the debauchery here.

*In the absence of an actual lime, lime skittles were popped into the bottles of Corona producing a foul green concoction
**though not, obviously, by Zander or myself who were driving the respective vehicles
***Prompting Darrell's classic first words to Amy to be "I met your arse before I met you!"

Fucking devastated.



Will update my blog about recent events when I'm feeling strong enough.

Chicks dig skills

I realise I've been a bit quiet recently, because Darrell has arrived and it's been all go over here at the Beaver. Last night we ended up having an impromptu 'circus skills' party, would you believe. Sparkle Barbie Horse began proceedings by balancing on a plank of wood on a log, then balancing successfully on the plank of wood on top of a keg (jumping up to do so) and then by getting out his diabolo and doing that while he balanced. Damn talented man; he got the skills baby. We all had a go, I was slowly getting the hang of both the balancing and the diabolo by the end of the night. I will post pictures/video soon, but it won't be tonight because when I get home from work we're picking up a minivan and Darrell, Kate, Chelsea, Laura, Andrew & I are all heading over to Revelstoke to ski/ride for a couple of days and stay in a 6 person suite at the Super8 Motel. Hurray!



By the way, in contrast to the post below, I'm really sad about Mark Speight. I'm too old to have grown up with SMart, but I knew who he was and I've been following the story unfold from over here. Given the circumstances of his fiancee's death, I can imagine it would be a real struggle to come to terms with what happened. Poor chap.

From my cold dead hands...

Goodbye Charlton Heston. I can't say I'm sad to see him go.

Getting dry

Random genius.

Homebirth takes another knocking

I happened across this study on the BBC website today. Oooh it made me so mad! You can tell the methodology is flawed without even reading the study itself. Even the headline is inflammatory: Home birth to ward increases risk. Well I'm fairly sure that you don't have to be a midwife or doctor to realise that if you're transferring in to hospital from a homebirth, then it's usually because the risk has increased. Why else would you transfer a labouring woman? For shits and giggles? There was no control group of women giving birth in hospital for comparison and the study included women who had planned to have a homebirth at 12 weeks pregnant, but who had either changed their mind or had a change in circumstances which meant that they instead gave birth in hospital. Don't you think that might just skew the statistics? If circumstances meant that a homebirth wasn't the most appropriate option, that might just mean that the risk was higher for that woman anyway?

I thought this quote was one of the most interesting:

But when complications did arise for women in this group and she needed tobe transferred to hospital, her risk of losing her baby was nearly eight times higher than the national average - and 12 times higher than had she given birth at home.

This, by inference, means that if a woman does give birth at home, her risk of having a stillbirth or neonatal death (the difference not defined by this article) is far lower than the national average (a fact any midwife worth her salt could already have told you, and one that is well documented). So, given the safety of successful homebirth in comparison to the national average for losing a baby - and with 98% of births occurring in hospital this must account for the huge majority of these - why are we not positively promoting homebirth for those for whom it is an appropriate option? Which, incidentally, is the majority of women. Why don't we have an 'opt-out' system, in the way that they have had in the Netherlands for years, where women are booked for a homebirth as a matter of course and only transfer to hospital-based care if problems crop up?

Of course I can answer my own question quite easily. The majority of doctors in the UK, who have a tremendous amount of power when it comes to shifting both public opinion and funds, have little faith in homebirth. They have little faith, in fact, in women's ability to give birth without interference. They have little faith in midwives and their ability to assist women in this most natural of functions. This has meant a general lack of confidence throughout society in both homebirth and normal* birth itself, reinforced continually through the media. This has meant that women who choose a homebirth often meet with resistance from their caregivers - midwives included - who will look for any excuse to deny them their wishes. Even their peers usually say things like 'Ooh you're brave!' about their decision. Of course, it is those who choose to give birth in hospital, who choose to face the inevitable 'cascade of intervention', leading so often to the handing over of power and control to a complete stranger, with concomitant poorer outcomes, that are the brave - or some might say foolish - ones. In my humble opinion at least.

*normal, in my own parlance, meaning without pharmaceutical drugs that block their bodies' natural instincts and feedback systems and without assistance from ventouse machines, forceps or caesarean sections. I could go on to say with the woman being in control of the experience, feeling empowered and with known and supportive birthing assistants who promote the physical and mental wellbeing of the mother and baby by working with the hormones in play during labour and beyond, rather than against them. But that might be a little too radical for some.