Here is the answer you've all been waiting for. Once again I'm sat in Black Medicine as my dastardly flatmate has run off with his router, so my time is limited, but at least the coffee is good.
So last Friday, I made the decision to leave Agape in the summer and return to marine biology. This will most likely mean initially returning to Newcastle to do a masters in Tropical Coastal Management. Those who know me pretty well will know that this has not been undertaken lightly, and if there's one thing I've learned, don't give yourself 6 months to make a decision - it's far too long!
But I have prayed and thought about this long and hard and really believe that this is where God wants me for the moment. The pros and cons lists had many reasons for doing both, and in the end I had to go with the heart I believe God is giving me.
This doesn't mean that I will cease to be a missionary, by any means. My context has just changed. God, who I believe to be the one unchanging truth in this world, will continue to be the center of my life, and the reason for everything I enter into.
So there you have it. My life is about to change yet again. Sorry to keep you waiting this long. And sorry you've had to find out about this this way if you haven't seen me face to face. Thanks to all of you who have prayed for me and helped me through this process!
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
Once more into the breach, dear friends
Many of you have been asking me recently how my decision making is going regarding next year (for those of you who haven't, this is about whether I commit long-term to Agape, or return to marine biology). You'll be glad to know, I've reached a decision - not everyone will be happy, some will not be suprised. And I'll write more fully about it when I have more than 10 minutes battery left on my laptop and am not stuck using the internet in a cafe when I should be packing my bag to go home for Christmas...
Sunday, December 03, 2006
I'm sure I have valuable things to say. I'm sure most the people who write blogs feel they have valuable things to say, but how many of us actually do, or at least how many of us actually manage to convey it in meaningful and instructive ways. With the regularity of my blogs falling to under a week, and the content of it sometimes actually resulting in a net loss of brain capacity once you've read it, my readership has gone down. Or at least no-one bothers commenting any more.
Isn't that what all bbudding writers want? Just on eperson to write a comment? To give them a shred of self worth? To make that 5 minutes, half an hour or whatever spent writing actually seem worth it?
My reasons for writing stuff here are pretty unclear. I originally started it as a way to keep people informed about what's going on with my ministry up here, but nobody ever really seemed to bother with that (although in case you're wondering, its very busy, I'm in the middle of sorting out trips to Lithuania, hosting people from Canada and orgnasising a couple fo film festivals along with all the usual stuff), so it became an outlet for random stuff.
Right now, I'm sat prone on the lovesac after wrecking my ankle (the other one this time) in a classic rendition of Sod's Law. So i've got nothing better to do than write drivel. Actually if you think about it, not one jot of what I've written so far has had any point to it.
But as usual I will insert the promise to write more regularly, and more relevantly. And who knows, maybe people will start reading more and giving me that little bit more sense of worht to the world.
As a reward for reading so much rubbish, follow this link for some YouTube fun
Isn't that what all bbudding writers want? Just on eperson to write a comment? To give them a shred of self worth? To make that 5 minutes, half an hour or whatever spent writing actually seem worth it?
My reasons for writing stuff here are pretty unclear. I originally started it as a way to keep people informed about what's going on with my ministry up here, but nobody ever really seemed to bother with that (although in case you're wondering, its very busy, I'm in the middle of sorting out trips to Lithuania, hosting people from Canada and orgnasising a couple fo film festivals along with all the usual stuff), so it became an outlet for random stuff.
Right now, I'm sat prone on the lovesac after wrecking my ankle (the other one this time) in a classic rendition of Sod's Law. So i've got nothing better to do than write drivel. Actually if you think about it, not one jot of what I've written so far has had any point to it.
But as usual I will insert the promise to write more regularly, and more relevantly. And who knows, maybe people will start reading more and giving me that little bit more sense of worht to the world.
As a reward for reading so much rubbish, follow this link for some YouTube fun
Friday, November 24, 2006
Thursday, November 16, 2006
I'm lost....no, I'm really lost.
Stories stories. I feel obliged to write something seeing as I'm off to Skye tomorrow and will e away from the entire world of communications (except TV) for 4 days.
I'm really at a loss to write anything of worth; I said I'd write about last weekend (well, 10 days ago) and the diving jaunt, but I'm out of wittism energy. Lets see how it goes anyway.
So we went off to Loch Fyne for the Uni dive club training weekend. The weather was, as usual damp and grey (except the early morning of saturday - see pics here) but the banter was high and generally we had a lot of fun. I learned the joys of driving a transit van whilst towing a boat and how not to take out the wings of parked cars. Quality whisky was consumed and deep, spiritual conversations were had. And then on sunday, all hell broke loose. First one girl had to go to hospital (an impressive 2 ambulances turned up) for a few hours to treat shortness of breath and a high pulse brought on by breathing salt water....and then on the way home, the transit van had a wee accident (I wasn't driving this time) and after nosing the car in front (with near on a ton of weight behind it), decided it wasnt going to go anywhere any time soon. It was a looong day.
With an absence of anything else to say, can I point you to this, for genuine, laugh out loud entertainment.
I'm really at a loss to write anything of worth; I said I'd write about last weekend (well, 10 days ago) and the diving jaunt, but I'm out of wittism energy. Lets see how it goes anyway.
So we went off to Loch Fyne for the Uni dive club training weekend. The weather was, as usual damp and grey (except the early morning of saturday - see pics here) but the banter was high and generally we had a lot of fun. I learned the joys of driving a transit van whilst towing a boat and how not to take out the wings of parked cars. Quality whisky was consumed and deep, spiritual conversations were had. And then on sunday, all hell broke loose. First one girl had to go to hospital (an impressive 2 ambulances turned up) for a few hours to treat shortness of breath and a high pulse brought on by breathing salt water....and then on the way home, the transit van had a wee accident (I wasn't driving this time) and after nosing the car in front (with near on a ton of weight behind it), decided it wasnt going to go anywhere any time soon. It was a looong day.
With an absence of anything else to say, can I point you to this, for genuine, laugh out loud entertainment.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Because I know Gayle will be reading this...
Well I'm a lame-ass, but finally, here's the story of the hostel. My apologies in that it will lack the humour and relevance that it might have done, had i written immediately after the event, a full 12 days ago.
Anyway, so 2 weekends ago, the aussie rules boys took a trip to Galway, Ireland to play a game against Dublin and watch the first test of the International Rules game against Ireland and Australia. Booking hostels is a bit of a nightmare because its the Irish bank holiday weekend and a ton of people are also coming to watch the game, but we manage to get a room for 7 of us at a delightfully named place called the Salmon Wier.
12 Euros a night. Turns out you get what you pay for. For those who google the salmon wier hostel, Galway, and my page turns up, dont go. Our room was a 12 bed dorm, with approximately a foot of space to walk between. Most the beds were taken up by apparentyl long term residents hanging suits and stuff off the bed. But hey, its a bed and a roof over the head. It has a 3am curfew, but we can live that (just about).
We go out, drink some Guiness, listen to some Commitments-style band and most of us get up at 2. I wake at 9:30 to an eastern european accent (you'll have to use your imagination here) shouting "you have 30 minutes to get out!" and "I can make this worse! I will throw your stuff on the street". Oooh, I think, someone's getting kicked out. Until I hear him say "all of you! get out". And it slowly dawns that we're all getting kicked out.
To cut this story slightly shorter, basically we established that apparently someone had arrived at 5am, and someone had let them in. This had woken a couple of people and they'd complained. Now it's important to realise that at no stage was a direct allegation made against any specific person, and also that its a FLIPPING HOSTEL. People come in and out. You wake up, you go to sleep. In my opinon if there's rules against coming back late, then there should be rules against getting up early. Noone wants to be woken at 7:30am to the sight of naked rambler arse (an incident from a cycling trip in Yorkshire).
Anyway, Eastern European justice (see the trial of Michael Shields for an example) appeared to prevail. He point blank refused to even talk to us about it, apart from to repeatedly tell us to leave and hand over the money we'd paid in advance for the Saturday night. I'm not normally an angry person, but this was pretty ridiculous. I've never heard of anyone getting kicked out of a hostel except for attempted arson or walking in on Women only dorms (Monterey, CA).
Anyway, by some miracle, we got a room in another hostel, run by a nice Irish bloke with no curfew. We lost our game to Dublin, blaming the weather (lots of rain, unsurprisingly), Australia lost to Ireland in the last minute and generally good craic was had. But never go to the Salmon Wier. And if your interested in some mediocre pictures, check out flickr.
Next Blog installment, the story of last weekend's diving trip to the west coast - fireworks, 2 ambulances, hospitals, underwater jeeps and transit van crashes.
Anyway, so 2 weekends ago, the aussie rules boys took a trip to Galway, Ireland to play a game against Dublin and watch the first test of the International Rules game against Ireland and Australia. Booking hostels is a bit of a nightmare because its the Irish bank holiday weekend and a ton of people are also coming to watch the game, but we manage to get a room for 7 of us at a delightfully named place called the Salmon Wier.
12 Euros a night. Turns out you get what you pay for. For those who google the salmon wier hostel, Galway, and my page turns up, dont go. Our room was a 12 bed dorm, with approximately a foot of space to walk between. Most the beds were taken up by apparentyl long term residents hanging suits and stuff off the bed. But hey, its a bed and a roof over the head. It has a 3am curfew, but we can live that (just about).
We go out, drink some Guiness, listen to some Commitments-style band and most of us get up at 2. I wake at 9:30 to an eastern european accent (you'll have to use your imagination here) shouting "you have 30 minutes to get out!" and "I can make this worse! I will throw your stuff on the street". Oooh, I think, someone's getting kicked out. Until I hear him say "all of you! get out". And it slowly dawns that we're all getting kicked out.
To cut this story slightly shorter, basically we established that apparently someone had arrived at 5am, and someone had let them in. This had woken a couple of people and they'd complained. Now it's important to realise that at no stage was a direct allegation made against any specific person, and also that its a FLIPPING HOSTEL. People come in and out. You wake up, you go to sleep. In my opinon if there's rules against coming back late, then there should be rules against getting up early. Noone wants to be woken at 7:30am to the sight of naked rambler arse (an incident from a cycling trip in Yorkshire).
Anyway, Eastern European justice (see the trial of Michael Shields for an example) appeared to prevail. He point blank refused to even talk to us about it, apart from to repeatedly tell us to leave and hand over the money we'd paid in advance for the Saturday night. I'm not normally an angry person, but this was pretty ridiculous. I've never heard of anyone getting kicked out of a hostel except for attempted arson or walking in on Women only dorms (Monterey, CA).
Anyway, by some miracle, we got a room in another hostel, run by a nice Irish bloke with no curfew. We lost our game to Dublin, blaming the weather (lots of rain, unsurprisingly), Australia lost to Ireland in the last minute and generally good craic was had. But never go to the Salmon Wier. And if your interested in some mediocre pictures, check out flickr.
Next Blog installment, the story of last weekend's diving trip to the west coast - fireworks, 2 ambulances, hospitals, underwater jeeps and transit van crashes.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
I'm I selling you out?
Today I was walking up one of the Closes that lead from the mound to the Royal Mile and in a hidden courtyard spied two men fighting with broadswords. The ceased before I thought of whiping out my camera, but it brightened my day.
In other news, I watched part of some program, the name of which escapes me, but it was about a load of teenagers from different backgrounds who went off to live together to prove to their parents that they were mature enough to be independant and should be treated as an adult. My emotional response to this reminded why I should never be a youth worker, and if I do, the police should be warned first.
In other news, I watched part of some program, the name of which escapes me, but it was about a load of teenagers from different backgrounds who went off to live together to prove to their parents that they were mature enough to be independant and should be treated as an adult. My emotional response to this reminded why I should never be a youth worker, and if I do, the police should be warned first.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Yeah, I'm More Than Fine.
They say a picture says a thousand words. This was taken on Friday Oct 13.
A full 18 days before Halloween and an even fuller 73 before Christmas. And I have no idea how long these had been up before I took the picture. A thousand words would probably not be enough to express my ire. I understand the marketability of Christmas, but is there a single benefit of putting this up so ludicrously early. It almost makes arson worthwhile.
The place in question , incidentally, is the club Why Not? (which lends itself to the huge numbers of obvious jokes, including, why not just keep the christmas decorations in a box for another 6 weeks?) which is in Edinburgh.
Incidentally, this is the first note I've written on the new Mac. It rocks. Bye bye Mr PC. Forever.
A full 18 days before Halloween and an even fuller 73 before Christmas. And I have no idea how long these had been up before I took the picture. A thousand words would probably not be enough to express my ire. I understand the marketability of Christmas, but is there a single benefit of putting this up so ludicrously early. It almost makes arson worthwhile.
The place in question , incidentally, is the club Why Not? (which lends itself to the huge numbers of obvious jokes, including, why not just keep the christmas decorations in a box for another 6 weeks?) which is in Edinburgh.
Incidentally, this is the first note I've written on the new Mac. It rocks. Bye bye Mr PC. Forever.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Proud Edward's Army
Corporate joy is a strange thing. Pack yourself into a pub full of smelly guys, where there is so little space you don't stand a chance of getting to the bar and the unwshed hair of the bloke in front of you infringes on your breathing space and continually threatens to fill your mouth; add a few small girls who have no chance of seeing any of the tvs but have no idea what's going on; throw in a few indiviuals who support the wrong team, and attempt to watch a high tension sporting event.
Twice in the last 6 months have I engaged in serious in such activity - The Calcutta Cup match (Scotland v England) in the Six Nations (which is rugby, for those of you who are Americans) and yesterday, when Scotland played France (at football this time). Both times Scotland we're expected to be hammered and both times Scotland squeezed out a (debatably) deserved win. Which brings me to my point about coporate joy.
Whenever Scotland scored decorum was allowed to go out the window. AFter spending 60 minutes trying not to let your head get in the way of the view of the big hairy guy behind you and subtley trying to elbow the guy in front to keep him from stepping to close to you, as soon as the ball goes in the net, you're allowed to leap, holler and yell. The big guy behind you gives a bear hug while you give the bloke in front of you a big kiss, all the while directing sneers at the french/english around you. It's a strange thing that can manage to strip away British reservation, but it's a good thing. Is it something to do wtih Scotland's underdog mentality? Possibly. People will celebrate goals at any game, but the extent to whcih a win over England, or a goal against the World Cup runners up is celebrated may only be matched south of the border by a win over Germany (rare) or getting somewhere close to the winning the world cup (rarer in football, not quite so rare in rugby - I confess I allowed myself a little loss of dignity when England beat Australia in 2003).
Anyway, a largely pointless thing to write about, but I realised how much fun (and fleeting) these times can be and wan't to savour them just a little longer...
Images after the Scotland v England match watched in sunny Oban...
And if any of you are questioning my nationality, send me a note at the relevant address. P.O. Box I-Don't-Care
Twice in the last 6 months have I engaged in serious in such activity - The Calcutta Cup match (Scotland v England) in the Six Nations (which is rugby, for those of you who are Americans) and yesterday, when Scotland played France (at football this time). Both times Scotland we're expected to be hammered and both times Scotland squeezed out a (debatably) deserved win. Which brings me to my point about coporate joy.
Whenever Scotland scored decorum was allowed to go out the window. AFter spending 60 minutes trying not to let your head get in the way of the view of the big hairy guy behind you and subtley trying to elbow the guy in front to keep him from stepping to close to you, as soon as the ball goes in the net, you're allowed to leap, holler and yell. The big guy behind you gives a bear hug while you give the bloke in front of you a big kiss, all the while directing sneers at the french/english around you. It's a strange thing that can manage to strip away British reservation, but it's a good thing. Is it something to do wtih Scotland's underdog mentality? Possibly. People will celebrate goals at any game, but the extent to whcih a win over England, or a goal against the World Cup runners up is celebrated may only be matched south of the border by a win over Germany (rare) or getting somewhere close to the winning the world cup (rarer in football, not quite so rare in rugby - I confess I allowed myself a little loss of dignity when England beat Australia in 2003).
Anyway, a largely pointless thing to write about, but I realised how much fun (and fleeting) these times can be and wan't to savour them just a little longer...
Images after the Scotland v England match watched in sunny Oban...
And if any of you are questioning my nationality, send me a note at the relevant address. P.O. Box I-Don't-Care
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
I lament the lack of writing talent in this generation
So, finally, the story of the lovesac. In pictures. The story starts here...
A lovesac store in Vegas. It's the last day of my holiday, and Tom introduces me to this thing called a Lovesac. Before we go any further, I'd like to clarify, IT'S NOT A BEANBAG!
Anyway, my birthday was the following week, I was feeling splurgy and, spurred on by sales staff who assured me it was light enough to travel back with me on the plane, I bought a lovely a Lovesac (a Moviesac to be precise).
Only, once I got to the airport, it was revealed that actually the beast was too heavy for the plane. 20lb too heavy. Not a problem, I hear you say - leave it with Tom. But Tom lef thte airport as soon as he dropped me off. That's OK, call him up and ask him to comeback, you counter. Actually, it turns out I don't have Toms number - its hiding in the depths of an email some where.
So I'm stuck in the aiport with a 40kg big thing, 70 minutes before my flight takes off and nowhere to run. It transpires that the only internet terminal this side of security is out of order and the lady at lost and found wont let me 'lose' it unless it's been through security. She will, however, check my email for me, which would be fine if she had the intelligence to use my name and password correctly. I blame the airport slot machines.
After much too-ing and fro-ing, frantic attemted and unsuccessful calls to various people, I discovered that the terminal has free Wi-Fi. Simple - just find someone with a laptop and I'll be fine. Except the one time I need one seems to be the ONLY time no American is teched up. Ultimately, however, i do find one, call Tom, who screeches around the corner a full 30 minutes before the flight goes airborne.
Cue my turn to sprint through the airport 'Love Actually' style, only to find the biggest queue for security and the need to take a train to my gate. Anyway, I arrive 15 minutes before take off and make it on, in the process soaking my fellow passengers with the rivers of perspiration streaming from my pores.
This story is long enough, so I will conclude by saying that the process of getting to Scotland was long, drawn out and costly. Basically a big big hassle. I wished I'd sold it on ebay far too late. But when it arrived, Boy was I happy! I jumped in my little car and ran all the way to Glasgow to hunt down a dirty warehouse where my baby was hanging out. This truck is an example of the transport she had to suffer.
And this is her sitting in my boot.
My flat mate John helpfully offered a hand in the final leg of transport.
And then she was cut free and allowed to grow. And how she grew!
In short, my non-beanbag (who really needs a name - any suggestions) is gorgeous and THE most comfortable place to spend hours watching football and scrubs. So I extend an open invitation to everyone to come experience her warm embrace.
A lovesac store in Vegas. It's the last day of my holiday, and Tom introduces me to this thing called a Lovesac. Before we go any further, I'd like to clarify, IT'S NOT A BEANBAG!Anyway, my birthday was the following week, I was feeling splurgy and, spurred on by sales staff who assured me it was light enough to travel back with me on the plane, I bought a lovely a Lovesac (a Moviesac to be precise).
Only, once I got to the airport, it was revealed that actually the beast was too heavy for the plane. 20lb too heavy. Not a problem, I hear you say - leave it with Tom. But Tom lef thte airport as soon as he dropped me off. That's OK, call him up and ask him to comeback, you counter. Actually, it turns out I don't have Toms number - its hiding in the depths of an email some where.
So I'm stuck in the aiport with a 40kg big thing, 70 minutes before my flight takes off and nowhere to run. It transpires that the only internet terminal this side of security is out of order and the lady at lost and found wont let me 'lose' it unless it's been through security. She will, however, check my email for me, which would be fine if she had the intelligence to use my name and password correctly. I blame the airport slot machines.
After much too-ing and fro-ing, frantic attemted and unsuccessful calls to various people, I discovered that the terminal has free Wi-Fi. Simple - just find someone with a laptop and I'll be fine. Except the one time I need one seems to be the ONLY time no American is teched up. Ultimately, however, i do find one, call Tom, who screeches around the corner a full 30 minutes before the flight goes airborne.
Cue my turn to sprint through the airport 'Love Actually' style, only to find the biggest queue for security and the need to take a train to my gate. Anyway, I arrive 15 minutes before take off and make it on, in the process soaking my fellow passengers with the rivers of perspiration streaming from my pores.
This story is long enough, so I will conclude by saying that the process of getting to Scotland was long, drawn out and costly. Basically a big big hassle. I wished I'd sold it on ebay far too late. But when it arrived, Boy was I happy! I jumped in my little car and ran all the way to Glasgow to hunt down a dirty warehouse where my baby was hanging out. This truck is an example of the transport she had to suffer.
And this is her sitting in my boot.
My flat mate John helpfully offered a hand in the final leg of transport.
And then she was cut free and allowed to grow. And how she grew!
In short, my non-beanbag (who really needs a name - any suggestions) is gorgeous and THE most comfortable place to spend hours watching football and scrubs. So I extend an open invitation to everyone to come experience her warm embrace.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Oooh a new feature?
Turns out I can now post pictures to the blog from Flickr. This isn't so great as I can't see anyway to post more than one picture. If I work it out it might become more exciting. So anyway, this is me and Chris. Chris has just left to go to the middle east to work for Agape for a year and I will miss him a lot.
In other words, I need to blog about the lovesac and 'Honey Alert' (don't visit this if you're at work!), but that might have to wait until the mayhem of Freshers is over.
In other words, I need to blog about the lovesac and 'Honey Alert' (don't visit this if you're at work!), but that might have to wait until the mayhem of Freshers is over.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Lost and Found
I gotchya James, but I don't have your number. Or your new email address. So help me out here...:)
Monday, September 04, 2006
What's that coming over the hill? Is it a Panzer Tank?
Right. Since the last post. Malta, Nottingham (agaaain. Why do they never change the menu? Although the duck in orange and rosemary was a surprise and spankingly good). Edinburgh, finally. Normally I would describe myself as a person with persistently itchy feet, but this summer, despite having done more travelling than an STD in Bangkok, I have found myself persistently missing Edinburgh. This place rocks.
So before the trip with Granny to Malta, I realised that it would be my last bit of Fringe Festival action this year, and that a sensible plan would be to make the most of it. So Monday and Tuesday both involved 4am returns to bed (and involved much high jinks and the story of the woman who 'I altered' - I would relate it but it is a little egocentric and people might (possibly rightly) of being big headed) and then Wednesday involved just not bothering to go to bed at all. I had to be at the airport for 6:30am, so rather than getting an hours sleep and trying to make it there, I figured it would be more fun just to stay up (although going to bed might have meant avoiding Mr Old Man obviously lost watching a ska band who relentlessly talked to me about Elvis for half an hour). Needless to say, the rest of the day was pretty hellish, and the family saw the worst of me (apart from when they got to see my athletic prowess, running through the airport Love Actually style to get to a post box), but when we got to Valletta, it was very pretty.
In fact, most of Malta is pretty, as long as you stay near the coast. The rest of it is dry and dusty, but seeing as its a small island, a lot of it is coast. And the diving is incredible. I got to do a couple of dives with a random guy running a dive school out of an old Ice Cream kiosk, on some wrecks and through some caves.
This isn't a very interesting story to anyone who doesn't dive, but I saw a few stingrays, and flying gurnards and stuff you dont get in the UK.
The other thing Malta has lots of is old stuff. The have religious temples 1000 years older than stonehenge and lots of catacombic tombs. Here's a picture (OK, there isn't cos blogspot aren't letting me, but check out Flickr instead).
The Nottingham trip doesn't have much to report on other than that I led worship for our Student Ministry staff conference we had, and my voice got likened to Chris Rea's. And the man was serious.
Oh and has anyone heard of Bic Runga? She's incredible and I got to stand right at the front for her concert last night. I know you're jealous.
Edit: In response to the comment - no the Lovesac has not yet arrived, however the saga has extended with the addition of more costs assosiated with customs. But today is the day it's supposed to land in Liverpool docks. So as long as those cheeky scousers don't nick it, we'll be alright.
So before the trip with Granny to Malta, I realised that it would be my last bit of Fringe Festival action this year, and that a sensible plan would be to make the most of it. So Monday and Tuesday both involved 4am returns to bed (and involved much high jinks and the story of the woman who 'I altered' - I would relate it but it is a little egocentric and people might (possibly rightly) of being big headed) and then Wednesday involved just not bothering to go to bed at all. I had to be at the airport for 6:30am, so rather than getting an hours sleep and trying to make it there, I figured it would be more fun just to stay up (although going to bed might have meant avoiding Mr Old Man obviously lost watching a ska band who relentlessly talked to me about Elvis for half an hour). Needless to say, the rest of the day was pretty hellish, and the family saw the worst of me (apart from when they got to see my athletic prowess, running through the airport Love Actually style to get to a post box), but when we got to Valletta, it was very pretty.
In fact, most of Malta is pretty, as long as you stay near the coast. The rest of it is dry and dusty, but seeing as its a small island, a lot of it is coast. And the diving is incredible. I got to do a couple of dives with a random guy running a dive school out of an old Ice Cream kiosk, on some wrecks and through some caves.
This isn't a very interesting story to anyone who doesn't dive, but I saw a few stingrays, and flying gurnards and stuff you dont get in the UK.The other thing Malta has lots of is old stuff. The have religious temples 1000 years older than stonehenge and lots of catacombic tombs. Here's a picture (OK, there isn't cos blogspot aren't letting me, but check out Flickr instead).
The Nottingham trip doesn't have much to report on other than that I led worship for our Student Ministry staff conference we had, and my voice got likened to Chris Rea's. And the man was serious.
Oh and has anyone heard of Bic Runga? She's incredible and I got to stand right at the front for her concert last night. I know you're jealous.
Edit: In response to the comment - no the Lovesac has not yet arrived, however the saga has extended with the addition of more costs assosiated with customs. But today is the day it's supposed to land in Liverpool docks. So as long as those cheeky scousers don't nick it, we'll be alright.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Lovesac, Baby Lovesac!
My hiatus is over folks! Until the next one, expect regular wit, charm and lengthy ramblings from the flotsam in my brain.
In the time gone many intersting and amusing things have happened, most of which have vacated the the well filed and ordered part of my brain, but as and when the numbskulls trip over them,I'll be sure to write about them.
So befiore I forget, I love Edinburgh. The more observant of you will have noticed that I spent the lion's share of the last 3 months not actually being here, but I am now, and it's great. The city is visibly pulsating with festival energy (someone I met last night saw a full on 10 man fist fight and 1pm in the Grassmarket with tourists just wandering by - they probably just thought it was an incredibly realistic show promo) and for some reason right now I'm sat sweating inside not enjoying it because I'm blogging to avoid writing a Newsletter and renewing my car insurance.
Anyway, last night I went to see my first show, the girly-haired Irish comedian Ed Byrne. In short he was very funny. Very funny indeed. References to Jade Goody being a bigger waste of space the more weight she loses and les physical space she takes up, Westboro Baptist church (Those of GodHatesFags.com fame) being mental and James Blunt being a "scheming f-ing rat" made me laugh a lot. But the cliche about things being funny because they are true is, in fact, true. Mr Byrne going on about the times when girlfriends ask what you're thinking actually made me cry. Come up to Edinburgh and go and see him. You can stay with me.
AS you may have guessed from the title, this blog was supposed to be about my Lovesac saga. No, contrary to popular opinion, it's not a euphanism about my genitalia or testicular cancer, but about the purchase of the comfiest thign you will ever sit on. Needless to say, it is a long story. And I'm already wiped after writing this. But it will come. Oh yes, it will come.
In the time gone many intersting and amusing things have happened, most of which have vacated the the well filed and ordered part of my brain, but as and when the numbskulls trip over them,I'll be sure to write about them.
So befiore I forget, I love Edinburgh. The more observant of you will have noticed that I spent the lion's share of the last 3 months not actually being here, but I am now, and it's great. The city is visibly pulsating with festival energy (someone I met last night saw a full on 10 man fist fight and 1pm in the Grassmarket with tourists just wandering by - they probably just thought it was an incredibly realistic show promo) and for some reason right now I'm sat sweating inside not enjoying it because I'm blogging to avoid writing a Newsletter and renewing my car insurance.
Anyway, last night I went to see my first show, the girly-haired Irish comedian Ed Byrne. In short he was very funny. Very funny indeed. References to Jade Goody being a bigger waste of space the more weight she loses and les physical space she takes up, Westboro Baptist church (Those of GodHatesFags.com fame) being mental and James Blunt being a "scheming f-ing rat" made me laugh a lot. But the cliche about things being funny because they are true is, in fact, true. Mr Byrne going on about the times when girlfriends ask what you're thinking actually made me cry. Come up to Edinburgh and go and see him. You can stay with me.
AS you may have guessed from the title, this blog was supposed to be about my Lovesac saga. No, contrary to popular opinion, it's not a euphanism about my genitalia or testicular cancer, but about the purchase of the comfiest thign you will ever sit on. Needless to say, it is a long story. And I'm already wiped after writing this. But it will come. Oh yes, it will come.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Ciao, bella!
Apologies for lack of posting. No, I really am sorry. You have been missing my wit and insight terribly over the last few weeks, I'm sure.
Anyway, I'm in Nottingham with hundreds of Europeans. People are speaking all sorts of languages I've never heard before. It's lots of fun. And the sun is shining. And Aston Villa have a new manager. I'm very happy.
Until next time, adieu
Anyway, I'm in Nottingham with hundreds of Europeans. People are speaking all sorts of languages I've never heard before. It's lots of fun. And the sun is shining. And Aston Villa have a new manager. I'm very happy.
Until next time, adieu
Friday, July 14, 2006
Like a burning ring of fire
Tom's in a meeting so there isn't much else for me to do except write another post. Wow. 3 posts in a week!
Anyway, VEgas is a lot of fun. Its darn hot though - they're in the middle of a heat wave and tomorrow will be 112 degree farenheit (or 44.5 Celcius). You walk out the door and it's like you're walking straight into an oven. No wonder the US uses so much energy, what with A/C running full blast in ever car, building, office and casino.
Speaking of casinos, I doubled up and won $20 on my first trip to a black jack table, which was nice. Although, when drinks are $6 for about 2/3 a pint, you need as much winnings as you can get! So, I've seen the strip, watched the fountains at the Bellagio, seen scantily clad fat women dressed in some roman attire, and taken pictures of the fake eiffel tower. And yes, it's lots of fun. Tonight I have a poker game, which will give me a chance to prove for once, that I can actually play poker, and don't always fall asleep haf way through.
And tomorrow I'm off to the lake with Tom's church, which, given the heat, is probably just as well.
And Linus, I still don't know who you are and it's driving me crazy. Readership is so low, that I doubt you're gonna be giving many cookies out, so give me some more clues!
Anyway, VEgas is a lot of fun. Its darn hot though - they're in the middle of a heat wave and tomorrow will be 112 degree farenheit (or 44.5 Celcius). You walk out the door and it's like you're walking straight into an oven. No wonder the US uses so much energy, what with A/C running full blast in ever car, building, office and casino.
Speaking of casinos, I doubled up and won $20 on my first trip to a black jack table, which was nice. Although, when drinks are $6 for about 2/3 a pint, you need as much winnings as you can get! So, I've seen the strip, watched the fountains at the Bellagio, seen scantily clad fat women dressed in some roman attire, and taken pictures of the fake eiffel tower. And yes, it's lots of fun. Tonight I have a poker game, which will give me a chance to prove for once, that I can actually play poker, and don't always fall asleep haf way through.
And tomorrow I'm off to the lake with Tom's church, which, given the heat, is probably just as well.
And Linus, I still don't know who you are and it's driving me crazy. Readership is so low, that I doubt you're gonna be giving many cookies out, so give me some more clues!
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Viva Las Vegas
This is probably the best holiday ever. Fun is to be had everywhere I look. Except on overnight Greyhound bus trips (incidentally, why on earth are all the greyhound stations in the ghetto part of towns?).
So San Diego was great. I did some tourist stuff, such as visiting the zoo, and sea world (which was great until the Shamu show, the one with the killer whale, started spouting crap about there being 'a truth that two species are trying to connect'. I've never heard such emotional guff in all my life) and going over the Coronado Bridge, which was made famous for me in the movie Anchorman, when Ron Burgendy's dog Baxter is kicked off it. And I also made lots of new friends. My intial plan was to stay in a hostel and hang out with people I knew already, but they introduced me to more people, and I ended up staying in the house of a guy called Nino. He produces a magazine, Bubblemag, which is very good and I thoroughly recommend you look at. Incidentally, there might be an interview with me published in there sometime in the future.
So for the weekend, I hung out with my new friends. I tried and failed to learn to surf (ALWAYS wear a rash vest, until you're very very good). I wen't to Nino's Grandma's birthday party, I went to a Saturday church service at Maranatha Chapel, where I disagreed slightly with the pastor, and I went to some musical stuff and met some very very very talented young musicians. And then in another God ordained coincidence, Nino's roommates parent's were travelling north past Monterey at exactly the time I was heading up there, so I got a free ride and didn't have to take the nasty bus.
Monterey was fun, and rekindled some memories, but nothing much of blogable note happened apart from the girl who gave me her phone number. Now I'm sure some of you might find this suprising (ha!), but I've never been directly given a number by a girl. Basically, what happened was that I headed to the Monterey Aquarium reception desk to try and find my friend who worked there. I oozed British charm and smiled sweetly and the girl, whose name was Misty, was very helpful and helped me find the guy. She also let me leave my big heavy dive bags behind her desk. And so, when I went to pick them up the other girl slipped me a piece of paper with the inscription "Misty, (phone number), call me!". OK, so it could have just been a joke. I didn't call her to find out, but it makes a good story anyway (if I was actually anygood at story telling).
And now, after 18 hours of travelling from Monterey, I made it to Vegas, where it's hot and garish and as soon as I got off the bus, was offered weed, ecstacy and LSD. Party town. Lets see if it's as fun as San Diego.
And by the way, Linus, of course you can be my sixth reader. I'm honoured to have you. But who exactly are you...Stop hiding hehind a pseudonym!
So San Diego was great. I did some tourist stuff, such as visiting the zoo, and sea world (which was great until the Shamu show, the one with the killer whale, started spouting crap about there being 'a truth that two species are trying to connect'. I've never heard such emotional guff in all my life) and going over the Coronado Bridge, which was made famous for me in the movie Anchorman, when Ron Burgendy's dog Baxter is kicked off it. And I also made lots of new friends. My intial plan was to stay in a hostel and hang out with people I knew already, but they introduced me to more people, and I ended up staying in the house of a guy called Nino. He produces a magazine, Bubblemag, which is very good and I thoroughly recommend you look at. Incidentally, there might be an interview with me published in there sometime in the future.
So for the weekend, I hung out with my new friends. I tried and failed to learn to surf (ALWAYS wear a rash vest, until you're very very good). I wen't to Nino's Grandma's birthday party, I went to a Saturday church service at Maranatha Chapel, where I disagreed slightly with the pastor, and I went to some musical stuff and met some very very very talented young musicians. And then in another God ordained coincidence, Nino's roommates parent's were travelling north past Monterey at exactly the time I was heading up there, so I got a free ride and didn't have to take the nasty bus.
Monterey was fun, and rekindled some memories, but nothing much of blogable note happened apart from the girl who gave me her phone number. Now I'm sure some of you might find this suprising (ha!), but I've never been directly given a number by a girl. Basically, what happened was that I headed to the Monterey Aquarium reception desk to try and find my friend who worked there. I oozed British charm and smiled sweetly and the girl, whose name was Misty, was very helpful and helped me find the guy. She also let me leave my big heavy dive bags behind her desk. And so, when I went to pick them up the other girl slipped me a piece of paper with the inscription "Misty, (phone number), call me!". OK, so it could have just been a joke. I didn't call her to find out, but it makes a good story anyway (if I was actually anygood at story telling).
And now, after 18 hours of travelling from Monterey, I made it to Vegas, where it's hot and garish and as soon as I got off the bus, was offered weed, ecstacy and LSD. Party town. Lets see if it's as fun as San Diego.
And by the way, Linus, of course you can be my sixth reader. I'm honoured to have you. But who exactly are you...Stop hiding hehind a pseudonym!
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Dooooooode
Haha. I got paid $20 to ask a girl to dance. She said no. Seems the British accent can't manage everything in America!
In other news, I just spent 4 days on a boat diving around California's Channel Islands. Sea Lions, Leapard sharks, octopus, and much much more. Lots of fun. A day later I still feel like the ground under me is rocking. And listening to England go out on penalties on a satalite radio at 9 in the morning in blazing sunshine on the ocean blue was a strange feeling.
In other news, I just spent 4 days on a boat diving around California's Channel Islands. Sea Lions, Leapard sharks, octopus, and much much more. Lots of fun. A day later I still feel like the ground under me is rocking. And listening to England go out on penalties on a satalite radio at 9 in the morning in blazing sunshine on the ocean blue was a strange feeling.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
We Are The Winners, of Eurovision!
Blog blog blog. This takes it out of you. I mean not doing it takes it out of you. You start iwth good intentions to write witty, informative and insightful stuff, and then all the urge to write goes out of you.
Well my excuse for not writing more in Lithuania is simple. Leading a team makes you very very busy, and when you do have a smidgen of spare time you don't want to spend it writing a blog, you want to spend it talking to your girlfriend or just getting some quiet personal space.
But for those who are wondering, the project went amazingly well. I shan't write all the details right now - I'm going to write a summary for the Agape webiste, and shall copy and paste that here in case anyone's interested. But suffice to say, we had a great time, God did huge works in all of us who went and a load of people we met.
My personal highlight was the Lithuanian version of Live8 (and it was nothign to do with the girl who turned around and told me "I like your face. Eet's sexy!). A big open air concert for charity with lots of famous (At least locally) Lithuanian bands, the stand out one for me being one called Camp that had an Irish singer (?) and a flipping awesome saxophonist. It was made all the more better by the guy on the laptop who did the samples breaking off mid-song, into a early-90s style white man's rap (and yes, complete with shell suit). He would have made it in East 17 if he was a little younger.
The night was capped off with a performance from LT United, the country's Eurovision Entry - they came 6th by the way- which was composed of members of all the previous bands. Check out the video and watch the bald guy dance. Possibly the best gig I've seen? Well no. But possibly more fun than the Electric Six and Libertines gigs I went to.
So. Maybe no more blogging action for a while - I'm off to California on holiday for 2 and ahalf weeks tomorrow. Maybe I'll get excited and bash something out. But maybe I wont. Maybe I'll post some pictures on Flickr (You can at least see Lithuania pictures on there now). We'll see.
Well my excuse for not writing more in Lithuania is simple. Leading a team makes you very very busy, and when you do have a smidgen of spare time you don't want to spend it writing a blog, you want to spend it talking to your girlfriend or just getting some quiet personal space.
But for those who are wondering, the project went amazingly well. I shan't write all the details right now - I'm going to write a summary for the Agape webiste, and shall copy and paste that here in case anyone's interested. But suffice to say, we had a great time, God did huge works in all of us who went and a load of people we met.
My personal highlight was the Lithuanian version of Live8 (and it was nothign to do with the girl who turned around and told me "I like your face. Eet's sexy!). A big open air concert for charity with lots of famous (At least locally) Lithuanian bands, the stand out one for me being one called Camp that had an Irish singer (?) and a flipping awesome saxophonist. It was made all the more better by the guy on the laptop who did the samples breaking off mid-song, into a early-90s style white man's rap (and yes, complete with shell suit). He would have made it in East 17 if he was a little younger.
The night was capped off with a performance from LT United, the country's Eurovision Entry - they came 6th by the way- which was composed of members of all the previous bands. Check out the video and watch the bald guy dance. Possibly the best gig I've seen? Well no. But possibly more fun than the Electric Six and Libertines gigs I went to.
So. Maybe no more blogging action for a while - I'm off to California on holiday for 2 and ahalf weeks tomorrow. Maybe I'll get excited and bash something out. But maybe I wont. Maybe I'll post some pictures on Flickr (You can at least see Lithuania pictures on there now). We'll see.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
They still play Boyzone here!!
Ok, I thought it might be interesting to post a couple of funny stories from here. if you want to know what's been happening ministry-wise, check my prayer email (or ask me to send you one). But suffice to say things are going well and someone became a Christian on the first day!
Story 1. (Disclaimer: I think these are funny, but then I'm tired and have a warped sense of humour. I accept no responsibilty if this wasted all your time)
Walking up a cobbled street in the old town of Vilnius, we were acosted bya rapidly moving bar coming the other way. yes indeed, it was a bar on wheel, fully motorised , with 2 draught pumps and a pretty waitress. Needless to say it was surrounded by raucous british men, perched on tall bar stools, with one of them dressed in a power rangers costume. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the new Prague.
Story2. Sitting on the bus with one of the Lithuanian staff minding our own business in a conversation, a man smelling lightly of booze leans over from behind me and says (this works better if you insert oyur own Eastern European accent here), "Excuse me, but you two are Scottish (pointing to me and Steve) and you two are Lithuanian (Pointing to Andy, who is Irish, and Jolita, Lithuanian)?" This was then followed by a conversation where he mostly ignored us and commented on how great Jolita's english was, while she offended him by saying he looked Turkish rather than Lithuanian. Then he finished up with this " I would like to hear you talk English some more, maybe in a restaurant, or cafe? (this is where the accent is most effective). Jolita, slow on the uptake looked confused "What?", she said. "Do you 'ave a telephone number?" he persisted "No!" Jolia excalimed "You're married!". "Oh. I forgot"
At least I laughed loudly when it happened. Maybe it wil lbe funnier when I act it out when I get back.
Iki
Story 1. (Disclaimer: I think these are funny, but then I'm tired and have a warped sense of humour. I accept no responsibilty if this wasted all your time)
Walking up a cobbled street in the old town of Vilnius, we were acosted bya rapidly moving bar coming the other way. yes indeed, it was a bar on wheel, fully motorised , with 2 draught pumps and a pretty waitress. Needless to say it was surrounded by raucous british men, perched on tall bar stools, with one of them dressed in a power rangers costume. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the new Prague.
Story2. Sitting on the bus with one of the Lithuanian staff minding our own business in a conversation, a man smelling lightly of booze leans over from behind me and says (this works better if you insert oyur own Eastern European accent here), "Excuse me, but you two are Scottish (pointing to me and Steve) and you two are Lithuanian (Pointing to Andy, who is Irish, and Jolita, Lithuanian)?" This was then followed by a conversation where he mostly ignored us and commented on how great Jolita's english was, while she offended him by saying he looked Turkish rather than Lithuanian. Then he finished up with this " I would like to hear you talk English some more, maybe in a restaurant, or cafe? (this is where the accent is most effective). Jolita, slow on the uptake looked confused "What?", she said. "Do you 'ave a telephone number?" he persisted "No!" Jolia excalimed "You're married!". "Oh. I forgot"
At least I laughed loudly when it happened. Maybe it wil lbe funnier when I act it out when I get back.
Iki
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
We are the winners! Vote for us!!
Tomorrow I fly out to Lithuania to lead a team of 9 students on a mission trip for 3 weeks. Tonight my thoughts are mostly of packing and the pint I'm going to have when I'm done. More interesting blogs to follow.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
El vino did flow
Question: Is blogging self-serving and egotistical or do readers gain significant (going with the statistical definition here) benefit from the author's (particularly mine) creative work. Discus.
And to help your thought processes, here's a picture I took that a faithful reader described as wonderful, thus gently massaging my ego but maybe also bringing here a significant benefit of some kind....
And to help your thought processes, here's a picture I took that a faithful reader described as wonderful, thus gently massaging my ego but maybe also bringing here a significant benefit of some kind....
Friday, May 19, 2006
No, I'm not only doing it so I can wear a vest!
It's raining outside. I need to go shopping for Lithuania, but instead I'll write some drivel.
Today's topic, Australian Rules Football. This glamourous sport has recently become my new obsession, so much so that I've even had dreams about playing it (that can't necessarily be good). Basically, for years it ranked alongside ice hockey as the sport I really wanted to play but never had the oppertunity to (althoguh I got to play ice hockey at uni). So imagine my childish delight as I walked past Oz Bar in Old Town and noticed a poster on the window advertising the Edinburgh aussie rules team, who were recruiting new players!
For those of you not in the know, Aussie Rules (or Aussie-no-rules as some would say), is a bit of a cross between rugby, gaelic football and wrestling. It's played on a huge oval (up to 200m long), with 18 players each team and the aim is to get the ball between some posts at the end of the pitch. You're not allowed to throw the ball, so you either have to kick it or punch it from your hands, which results in fast fluid play if you're a professional, or lots of rolling around on the ground with six others trying to punch the ball to someone if you're us.
Anyway, so far we've had 2 wins out of 2 this season (Go you Bloods!) and we generalyl kick arse. So far I've staved 4 fingers, whilst the other 6 sit and count their blessing as they know its only a matter of time before it's their turn. I've ripped the skin of my knee entirely, which has led to some nice scarring and I love it! Its so much fun to learn a new sport I don't really know anof the rules for! It's also been really cool to get to know some Aussies and find out what it's like being a backpaker in Edinburgh. And it's probably going to be the biggest thing I miss when I'm in Lithuania.
By the way, I realise that this post is rubbish of the highest quality. I apologise. I really wanted to write a good post about aussie rules, and it had been ages since I wrote last, but for some reason today I just couldn't find the words. Maybe the rain outside is depressing me.
Today's topic, Australian Rules Football. This glamourous sport has recently become my new obsession, so much so that I've even had dreams about playing it (that can't necessarily be good). Basically, for years it ranked alongside ice hockey as the sport I really wanted to play but never had the oppertunity to (althoguh I got to play ice hockey at uni). So imagine my childish delight as I walked past Oz Bar in Old Town and noticed a poster on the window advertising the Edinburgh aussie rules team, who were recruiting new players!
For those of you not in the know, Aussie Rules (or Aussie-no-rules as some would say), is a bit of a cross between rugby, gaelic football and wrestling. It's played on a huge oval (up to 200m long), with 18 players each team and the aim is to get the ball between some posts at the end of the pitch. You're not allowed to throw the ball, so you either have to kick it or punch it from your hands, which results in fast fluid play if you're a professional, or lots of rolling around on the ground with six others trying to punch the ball to someone if you're us.
Anyway, so far we've had 2 wins out of 2 this season (Go you Bloods!) and we generalyl kick arse. So far I've staved 4 fingers, whilst the other 6 sit and count their blessing as they know its only a matter of time before it's their turn. I've ripped the skin of my knee entirely, which has led to some nice scarring and I love it! Its so much fun to learn a new sport I don't really know anof the rules for! It's also been really cool to get to know some Aussies and find out what it's like being a backpaker in Edinburgh. And it's probably going to be the biggest thing I miss when I'm in Lithuania.
By the way, I realise that this post is rubbish of the highest quality. I apologise. I really wanted to write a good post about aussie rules, and it had been ages since I wrote last, but for some reason today I just couldn't find the words. Maybe the rain outside is depressing me.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Three Peak (Or should that be Twin Peaks?) Challenge
Right. Been a while since a decent post, so this one is going to be mammoth. Prepare yourself for a sore bum. Or just stop reading and do something useful.
Last weekend (29 April), 4 of us set off to the west coast of Scotland to attempt the 3 Peak Challenge. For those of you not in the know, the challenge requires you to climb the highest peaks in Scotland, England and Wales (Ben Nevis, Scafell Pike and Snowdon respectively) in under 24 hours, including all traveling time. To give some scope, that's about 475 miles driving, something over 20 miles of walking and over 3000m (12,000ft) vertical climbing! There wasn't much reason for us doing it, mostly to prove our manly prowess, but towards the end Christian decided to raise money for this mission trip to Lithuania and suddenly there was more incentive to make sure we completed it.
Anyway, what follows is a relatively full account of what happened. Before I left I read someone else's blog of their experience and found it pretty useful, so who knows, maybe someone will google it and come up with me!
The day didn't start amazingly well. I played football in the morning (which we won), but 2 minutes before the end, someone slid in on me and landed right on the bone on the inside of my foot. Ow. And then we had agreed to leave no later than 2pm to get to Fort William and I, as usual hadn't pact properly, so it was pushing 2:30 by the time we got away. The original plan was to leave the car park at Ben Nevis at 5:30, so we could be off the summit while it was still light, and have as little as possible to walk in the dark. But ultimately, Thom, Christian, my dad and I finally ended up leaving the car at 5:57pm, setting off at a fast pace, quickly noticing that we had accidentally parked at the main carpark, not the recommended one by the Youth Hostel that might have shaved 15-20 minutes off our time.
The Start. Me, Christian, Thom and my Dad (he's the old one).
The climb was pretty straightforward, and included lots of showing off and impressing all the people coming down who couldn't believe we were starting to climb so late in the day, by describing our mammoth task. It got a little harder when we hit the snow about 40 minutes from the top, but fortunately it was not the middle of the afternoon and the soft bits had hardened up a little. About 20 minutes from the top we met another group doing the 3 peaks coming down. They looked very professional with 2 walking sticks each (we had 2 between 4 of us) and fancy map holders. But beating them gave us something to aim for and we pressed on and reach the summit in 2hrs 50, which was 40 minutes ahead of what we'd been told to expect. The descent was super fun, and we were able to leap and run down the snowy bits (until dad hit a particularly deep bit and nearly twisted his knee. We also managed to leave the head torches off until half and hour before the bottom although, me being the organized type, had forgotten his and had to rely on my bike lights (which I'm sure were brighter than my torch anyway!). We hit the bottom in 2:10ish, giving us a total of about 5 hours, which we originally thought was an hour ahead of schedule, but turned out to be about on time.
The best bit had to be walking up the west face as the sun went down. Completely clear days on Nevis are rare, and to be climbing as the sun goes down was something pretty darn special. Words can't really do it justice.
Dad on his way to the top.
This was where it got hard
Lochaber from near the top.
We're the highest people in Britain!
So as we continued on our journey we made our next mistake. We wanted to get some hot food (super noodles not being particularly appetising after 11pm) and Dad due to his ethical stance didn't want to eat at the McDonalds which I'd heard (on other 3 Peak sites) was open until 12. So we parked up in Fort William and walked down the main street looking for the chip shop. Unfortunately, due to Fort William being a typical Scottish backwater town and not at all set up for tourists (despite currently hosting a huge Superbike festival and the annual UK Mountain Bike championships, not to mention thousands of walkers), and every thing shuts at 9. Except for the pubs of course. So we went off to find McDonalds, and guess what? Yep, that was closed too. So advice to people planning to do this challenge, don't rely on civilisation to pull you through, cos you'll waste 20 minutes doing so.
So instead we cracked open the sausage rolls I'd thoughtfully bought from Tesco the day before (after a trip to the aquarium with Beth. A great day incidentally) and settled down for some sleep. Dad drove to Glasgow and Christian took over as far as the services on the M6 at Penrith. Somehow, in my dazed and confused state at around 2:30am, I was persuaded to purchase a 'MOTO traditional breakfast'. To anyone else in this position, DON'T! It was turd. And I had to forgo this month's rent to pay for it. So after wasting another 20 minutes greasing my stomach and refueling, I gallantly offered to drive.
On reflection this was somewhat foolish, but someone had to do it. I'd had about 2 and half hours of semi-sleep, which I decided was enough to take on the roads of the lake district. At least the curves kept me awake. After a couple of hours of unmarked hairpin bends and fox-avoidance, we arrived in Wasdale Head somewhere shortly before 5. We quickly kitted up and charged up the hill (I don't really want to call it a mountain).
Off again.
Personally, I found the middle section the hardest part of the whole trip. I couldn't really get into a rhythm, the grease of the rubber sausages was sloshing around my gut, and I hadn't had any chocolate for a while, and I was trying to keep up with Christian who was marching off at such a speed that Dad was asking 'what country he was invading'. It wasn't much fun. Making it particularly tough were the songs going round my head which I couldn't remove. First on the play list was the Numa Numa song (with the fat guy on the webcam), followed by the Indiana Jones theme and then the worst f the lot, Wannabe by the Spice Girls. This last one wouldn't budge and also reappeared on the way down Snowdon. Eughhh.
And then came our next mistake. Most advice will tell you not to take a certain route due to 'severe erosion'. I had read this but duly forgot, and so we found ourselves scrambling up vertical scree to reach the ridge, blinding the person below us in the process. It was tough, but probably still quicker than the other path.
unfortunately the picture doesn't quite convey the angle of the scree...
The summit was conquered at around 7, and was marked by the calling (and waking up) of various friends and family members. Indeed was a beautiful moment, to be virtually the only people up the mountain at dawn, with spectacular views all around.
Summit view
So we climbed Scafell Pike in around 3hours 20 (1:50 up, 1:30 down), a good 40 minutes ahead of the guideline times. With Wasdale Head being at the end of a very long cul-de-sac, we were determined to get out before all the bank holiday weekend walkers arrived and so had to abandon Dad's plans of making porridge in the car park. Thom took the driving reigns and we charged off towards Wales.
It should be noted that as we descended, we came across the other group of 3 peakers, climbing up, with one man down. I've no idea where we overtook them, especially with our prolonged stop in Fort William, but we managed to overturn what was probably a 20 minute advantage to them into a half hour advantage for us!
Christian gets some 'quality' sleep
The journey from Wasdale to Llanberis (where Snowdon is) is supposed to take about 4 and a half hours, and for the first time, I started to get a little nervous about completing the challenge. The traffic on the A55 was horrendous and for half an hour we were barely making it over 40 miles an hour. Anyway, we made it to the start of the Watkin's Path with the clock running at 21:40, meaning we had a little over 4 hours to make the climb.
To those of you who know Snowdon, you may e wondering why we took the Watkin Path. Indeed, it is also advised against for this challenge due to the last 200 vertical meters being steep scree and therefore knackering and unsuitable for climbers who've had no sleep and already done 2 mountains. The advised route is the Pyg Trail, starting at about 360m above sea level (meaning you have much less distance to climb). As our luck would have it (typically), the car park was full (one of the reasons a recommended driver is recommended is so that they can drop you off here), so we had to carry on round to the start of the Watkins Path at a majestic height of 76m. Its pretty depressing actually, because as you pass the car park, which sits on a ridge, you see the valley just drop away from you and you know you have to climb aaaall the way out.
So we pressed on and on. Accompanied by the Spice Girls the pace was fast and not at all demoralised by all the people who kept telling us we had miles to go as they were coming down. My personal favourite was the gadget freak who glee fully told me as I scrambled up the big rocks and scree "Don't worry, you're very close, only 160m to go!". Right. 160m. That's in vertical height, which works out at about 16% of my total climb, all of which is up this flipping death trap, and you say I'm very close?? Needless to say, I wasn't happy, and was indeed still a good 20 minutes or so from the top, which when we reached the summit in 2hr 20, shouldn't be regarded as very close. Close, but not very close.
What I orginally thought was the top. At this point we were on the wrong path next to a rather large cliff. Notice the German woman in red with exceedingly large pack, who had persuaded us that this was the correct path.
Anyway, the most demoralising thing was to reach the summit and discover, munching on their sandwiches, the other 3 peak group, who had just triumphantly climbed the Pyg trail. Evidently the man down had become the designated driver and they'd been dropped off at the car park. My indignation at them beating us resulted in the declaration that the Pyg trail is for girls, and in fact, they hadn't climbed the whole mountain. We did it the manly way. So there.
The descent went smoothly, apart from a near disaster when Christian and I toyed with the idea of cutting a huge corner in the track, which would have probably involved us falling into a crevice, ending up in a black hole and being dumped at the top of Nevis or something. Anyway, we still had enough energy and adrenaline flowing round to run the last kilometer or so. This was the most satisfying part of the whole thing, running past the people who'd been descending whilst we were struggling to the top, especially that guy!
And so it was that we completed the challenge in a triumphant 23 hours and 22 minutes (Dad and Thom coming in around 23:35). I'm convinced that if we'd not faffed around in Fort William, been stuck in traffic on the A55 and taken the Pyg trail, then 22 hours would have been easily achievable.
Lets do it again...
All in all, it was an awesome experience. A great way to see creation at it's finest, and lots of fun male bonding. Probably the hardest part was waking up in a petrol station at some stupid time in the middle of the night, realising I wasn't in my bed and wondering why on earth were were driving to another mountain. Its fair to say my motivation was pretty low then.
If I had to give advice to people doing it, I'd first suggest not to bring any sausage rolls, unless you eat them straight away, because they STINK. And the smell wont go away. The best bit about having a designated driver is they can cook stuff for you, meaning you don't have to stop in dingy service stations for crap food. And you can do the girly route up Snowdon if you want. Apologies for it being so long. If I was any good at web design, I would have put each mountain on a separate page. Oh, and compedes are a lifesaver!
Last weekend (29 April), 4 of us set off to the west coast of Scotland to attempt the 3 Peak Challenge. For those of you not in the know, the challenge requires you to climb the highest peaks in Scotland, England and Wales (Ben Nevis, Scafell Pike and Snowdon respectively) in under 24 hours, including all traveling time. To give some scope, that's about 475 miles driving, something over 20 miles of walking and over 3000m (12,000ft) vertical climbing! There wasn't much reason for us doing it, mostly to prove our manly prowess, but towards the end Christian decided to raise money for this mission trip to Lithuania and suddenly there was more incentive to make sure we completed it.
Anyway, what follows is a relatively full account of what happened. Before I left I read someone else's blog of their experience and found it pretty useful, so who knows, maybe someone will google it and come up with me!
The day didn't start amazingly well. I played football in the morning (which we won), but 2 minutes before the end, someone slid in on me and landed right on the bone on the inside of my foot. Ow. And then we had agreed to leave no later than 2pm to get to Fort William and I, as usual hadn't pact properly, so it was pushing 2:30 by the time we got away. The original plan was to leave the car park at Ben Nevis at 5:30, so we could be off the summit while it was still light, and have as little as possible to walk in the dark. But ultimately, Thom, Christian, my dad and I finally ended up leaving the car at 5:57pm, setting off at a fast pace, quickly noticing that we had accidentally parked at the main carpark, not the recommended one by the Youth Hostel that might have shaved 15-20 minutes off our time.
The Start. Me, Christian, Thom and my Dad (he's the old one).The climb was pretty straightforward, and included lots of showing off and impressing all the people coming down who couldn't believe we were starting to climb so late in the day, by describing our mammoth task. It got a little harder when we hit the snow about 40 minutes from the top, but fortunately it was not the middle of the afternoon and the soft bits had hardened up a little. About 20 minutes from the top we met another group doing the 3 peaks coming down. They looked very professional with 2 walking sticks each (we had 2 between 4 of us) and fancy map holders. But beating them gave us something to aim for and we pressed on and reach the summit in 2hrs 50, which was 40 minutes ahead of what we'd been told to expect. The descent was super fun, and we were able to leap and run down the snowy bits (until dad hit a particularly deep bit and nearly twisted his knee. We also managed to leave the head torches off until half and hour before the bottom although, me being the organized type, had forgotten his and had to rely on my bike lights (which I'm sure were brighter than my torch anyway!). We hit the bottom in 2:10ish, giving us a total of about 5 hours, which we originally thought was an hour ahead of schedule, but turned out to be about on time.
The best bit had to be walking up the west face as the sun went down. Completely clear days on Nevis are rare, and to be climbing as the sun goes down was something pretty darn special. Words can't really do it justice.
Dad on his way to the top.
This was where it got hard
Lochaber from near the top.
We're the highest people in Britain!So as we continued on our journey we made our next mistake. We wanted to get some hot food (super noodles not being particularly appetising after 11pm) and Dad due to his ethical stance didn't want to eat at the McDonalds which I'd heard (on other 3 Peak sites) was open until 12. So we parked up in Fort William and walked down the main street looking for the chip shop. Unfortunately, due to Fort William being a typical Scottish backwater town and not at all set up for tourists (despite currently hosting a huge Superbike festival and the annual UK Mountain Bike championships, not to mention thousands of walkers), and every thing shuts at 9. Except for the pubs of course. So we went off to find McDonalds, and guess what? Yep, that was closed too. So advice to people planning to do this challenge, don't rely on civilisation to pull you through, cos you'll waste 20 minutes doing so.
So instead we cracked open the sausage rolls I'd thoughtfully bought from Tesco the day before (after a trip to the aquarium with Beth. A great day incidentally) and settled down for some sleep. Dad drove to Glasgow and Christian took over as far as the services on the M6 at Penrith. Somehow, in my dazed and confused state at around 2:30am, I was persuaded to purchase a 'MOTO traditional breakfast'. To anyone else in this position, DON'T! It was turd. And I had to forgo this month's rent to pay for it. So after wasting another 20 minutes greasing my stomach and refueling, I gallantly offered to drive.
On reflection this was somewhat foolish, but someone had to do it. I'd had about 2 and half hours of semi-sleep, which I decided was enough to take on the roads of the lake district. At least the curves kept me awake. After a couple of hours of unmarked hairpin bends and fox-avoidance, we arrived in Wasdale Head somewhere shortly before 5. We quickly kitted up and charged up the hill (I don't really want to call it a mountain).
Off again.Personally, I found the middle section the hardest part of the whole trip. I couldn't really get into a rhythm, the grease of the rubber sausages was sloshing around my gut, and I hadn't had any chocolate for a while, and I was trying to keep up with Christian who was marching off at such a speed that Dad was asking 'what country he was invading'. It wasn't much fun. Making it particularly tough were the songs going round my head which I couldn't remove. First on the play list was the Numa Numa song (with the fat guy on the webcam), followed by the Indiana Jones theme and then the worst f the lot, Wannabe by the Spice Girls. This last one wouldn't budge and also reappeared on the way down Snowdon. Eughhh.
And then came our next mistake. Most advice will tell you not to take a certain route due to 'severe erosion'. I had read this but duly forgot, and so we found ourselves scrambling up vertical scree to reach the ridge, blinding the person below us in the process. It was tough, but probably still quicker than the other path.
unfortunately the picture doesn't quite convey the angle of the scree...The summit was conquered at around 7, and was marked by the calling (and waking up) of various friends and family members. Indeed was a beautiful moment, to be virtually the only people up the mountain at dawn, with spectacular views all around.
Summit viewSo we climbed Scafell Pike in around 3hours 20 (1:50 up, 1:30 down), a good 40 minutes ahead of the guideline times. With Wasdale Head being at the end of a very long cul-de-sac, we were determined to get out before all the bank holiday weekend walkers arrived and so had to abandon Dad's plans of making porridge in the car park. Thom took the driving reigns and we charged off towards Wales.
It should be noted that as we descended, we came across the other group of 3 peakers, climbing up, with one man down. I've no idea where we overtook them, especially with our prolonged stop in Fort William, but we managed to overturn what was probably a 20 minute advantage to them into a half hour advantage for us!
Christian gets some 'quality' sleepThe journey from Wasdale to Llanberis (where Snowdon is) is supposed to take about 4 and a half hours, and for the first time, I started to get a little nervous about completing the challenge. The traffic on the A55 was horrendous and for half an hour we were barely making it over 40 miles an hour. Anyway, we made it to the start of the Watkin's Path with the clock running at 21:40, meaning we had a little over 4 hours to make the climb.
To those of you who know Snowdon, you may e wondering why we took the Watkin Path. Indeed, it is also advised against for this challenge due to the last 200 vertical meters being steep scree and therefore knackering and unsuitable for climbers who've had no sleep and already done 2 mountains. The advised route is the Pyg Trail, starting at about 360m above sea level (meaning you have much less distance to climb). As our luck would have it (typically), the car park was full (one of the reasons a recommended driver is recommended is so that they can drop you off here), so we had to carry on round to the start of the Watkins Path at a majestic height of 76m. Its pretty depressing actually, because as you pass the car park, which sits on a ridge, you see the valley just drop away from you and you know you have to climb aaaall the way out.
So we pressed on and on. Accompanied by the Spice Girls the pace was fast and not at all demoralised by all the people who kept telling us we had miles to go as they were coming down. My personal favourite was the gadget freak who glee fully told me as I scrambled up the big rocks and scree "Don't worry, you're very close, only 160m to go!". Right. 160m. That's in vertical height, which works out at about 16% of my total climb, all of which is up this flipping death trap, and you say I'm very close?? Needless to say, I wasn't happy, and was indeed still a good 20 minutes or so from the top, which when we reached the summit in 2hr 20, shouldn't be regarded as very close. Close, but not very close.
What I orginally thought was the top. At this point we were on the wrong path next to a rather large cliff. Notice the German woman in red with exceedingly large pack, who had persuaded us that this was the correct path.
Anyway, the most demoralising thing was to reach the summit and discover, munching on their sandwiches, the other 3 peak group, who had just triumphantly climbed the Pyg trail. Evidently the man down had become the designated driver and they'd been dropped off at the car park. My indignation at them beating us resulted in the declaration that the Pyg trail is for girls, and in fact, they hadn't climbed the whole mountain. We did it the manly way. So there.
The descent went smoothly, apart from a near disaster when Christian and I toyed with the idea of cutting a huge corner in the track, which would have probably involved us falling into a crevice, ending up in a black hole and being dumped at the top of Nevis or something. Anyway, we still had enough energy and adrenaline flowing round to run the last kilometer or so. This was the most satisfying part of the whole thing, running past the people who'd been descending whilst we were struggling to the top, especially that guy!
And so it was that we completed the challenge in a triumphant 23 hours and 22 minutes (Dad and Thom coming in around 23:35). I'm convinced that if we'd not faffed around in Fort William, been stuck in traffic on the A55 and taken the Pyg trail, then 22 hours would have been easily achievable.
Lets do it again...All in all, it was an awesome experience. A great way to see creation at it's finest, and lots of fun male bonding. Probably the hardest part was waking up in a petrol station at some stupid time in the middle of the night, realising I wasn't in my bed and wondering why on earth were were driving to another mountain. Its fair to say my motivation was pretty low then.
If I had to give advice to people doing it, I'd first suggest not to bring any sausage rolls, unless you eat them straight away, because they STINK. And the smell wont go away. The best bit about having a designated driver is they can cook stuff for you, meaning you don't have to stop in dingy service stations for crap food. And you can do the girly route up Snowdon if you want. Apologies for it being so long. If I was any good at web design, I would have put each mountain on a separate page. Oh, and compedes are a lifesaver!
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Thursday, April 20, 2006
He's going for distance, he's going for speed...
My social rant is still pending....However, I have more pertinent stuff to write about. Originally this would have been about my diving trip at the weekend - beautiful scenery, great weather and pretty good diving. I could have regaled you with stories of the wood cabin we stayed in, the stories round the bonfire and the awesome 'first barbecue of the year'.
But I don't want to write about that anymore. Last night I experienced this.
Now I've no idea what 'hives' are, and I was spared the diarrhea and vomiting, but I got a full quota of the rashes, itching and nausea. Basically last night I went out for dinner with my Granny and my cousins, and having spotted mussels on the starter menu, munched my way through 25 or so of them. About half way through the main course (a tasty Calzone pizza), I noticed2 or 3 of what seemed to be bites on my stomach and legs. Passing them off as spiting of the fleas which I must evidently be carrying, I soldiered on with the meal. However, by the coffee, the itching had got worse and I thought I was going to hurl. A visit to the bathroom did not manage to procure any vomit (maintaining my record of not throwing up since my infamous incident at the White House in 1999), but did confirm that my body was now covered in a red and white blotchy rash.
To cut a longish story slighty shorter, we visited my aunt (a doctor) who confirmed that it was an allergy, despite me never having a reaction before, reassured me that I wasn't going to die and suggested I had a cold shower to reduce the burning pain from the itch. So I went up to the bathroom, where upon I very nearly passed out (ever had that feeling where everything closes in and you cant see any more? It's great!), and promtly returned downstairs. Ultimately I ended up sleeping (sort of) on my grandma's sofa, valiantly trying and failing to stop itching. And during a trip to the bathroom at 2am, I nearly passed out again twice.
In all, not a lot of fun. And the worst bit, despite my cousin repeatedly telling me how red and puffed up my face was and that I should take a picture, I didn't get any pics to show my devoted readers (all 4 of you). C'est la vie.
But I don't want to write about that anymore. Last night I experienced this.
Now I've no idea what 'hives' are, and I was spared the diarrhea and vomiting, but I got a full quota of the rashes, itching and nausea. Basically last night I went out for dinner with my Granny and my cousins, and having spotted mussels on the starter menu, munched my way through 25 or so of them. About half way through the main course (a tasty Calzone pizza), I noticed2 or 3 of what seemed to be bites on my stomach and legs. Passing them off as spiting of the fleas which I must evidently be carrying, I soldiered on with the meal. However, by the coffee, the itching had got worse and I thought I was going to hurl. A visit to the bathroom did not manage to procure any vomit (maintaining my record of not throwing up since my infamous incident at the White House in 1999), but did confirm that my body was now covered in a red and white blotchy rash.
To cut a longish story slighty shorter, we visited my aunt (a doctor) who confirmed that it was an allergy, despite me never having a reaction before, reassured me that I wasn't going to die and suggested I had a cold shower to reduce the burning pain from the itch. So I went up to the bathroom, where upon I very nearly passed out (ever had that feeling where everything closes in and you cant see any more? It's great!), and promtly returned downstairs. Ultimately I ended up sleeping (sort of) on my grandma's sofa, valiantly trying and failing to stop itching. And during a trip to the bathroom at 2am, I nearly passed out again twice.
In all, not a lot of fun. And the worst bit, despite my cousin repeatedly telling me how red and puffed up my face was and that I should take a picture, I didn't get any pics to show my devoted readers (all 4 of you). C'est la vie.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
You don't need no credit card to ride this train
I had an interesting rant to blog about, but having just returned from a staff conference, its probably more appropriate to talk about that, and leave you baying in anticipation for the next post (it's about the state of our 'yoof' ).
So Friday to Tuesday, I was down saaawf. Friday night I stopped off at my folks for the night, and my sister had driven up from London for the occasion, so we all went out to a local (when I say local, I mean in the hills in the middle of nowhere) pub/restaurant for a very tasty duck and lamb dinner, where the famed local (this time I use the word to refer to a regular drinker) who drinks with an owl on his shoulder failed to turn up. Anyway, the food was great, and it was most excellent to spend time with the family, even if at points the conversation descended into inquisitions about respective siblings' romantic lives.
The conference was also excellent. It's always great to hang out with the staff family. The food was tolerable (we were staying in Nottingham uni - makes you never want to be a first year student in halls!), but the program was ace! God challenged me on lots of exciting stuff and I got a lot of vision for the coming 18months. We had a commissioning service for our departing National Director, David Wilson (now to be a European Director) and the incoming guy Andy Atikins, where we all got to wear posh frocks (or at least the girls did. Actually, come to think of it, I can't remember anyone wearing a dress) and clap lots. Even Mr OM himself, George Verwer turned up! It was also kinda sad too because barring a day or so in June, the conference was the last time I'll see a lot of the yankedoodles working in Liverpool (yes, yes, I do have a soft side to my emotions), who are a heck of a lot of fun to be with.
Schmoozing with our American friends. Don't worry, the facial hair has gone.
Thee food may be crap, but the campus was pretty.
I also got forced to acknowledge how soon the project to Lithuania is (6 and a half weeks to go) and how much I have left to do. Made a start and bought all the flights yesterday, making a £1400 dent in my credit card, so lets hope nobody pulls out!
What else interesting to talk about? The abortive attempt at watching the Back to the Future trilogy in one go,which ended up just being two Indiana Jones films because none of us actually had the Back to the Future Dvds? Or the farcical story of my losing my phone down a sofa? Actually, I'll talk about none of them and go and have my tea instead.
So Friday to Tuesday, I was down saaawf. Friday night I stopped off at my folks for the night, and my sister had driven up from London for the occasion, so we all went out to a local (when I say local, I mean in the hills in the middle of nowhere) pub/restaurant for a very tasty duck and lamb dinner, where the famed local (this time I use the word to refer to a regular drinker) who drinks with an owl on his shoulder failed to turn up. Anyway, the food was great, and it was most excellent to spend time with the family, even if at points the conversation descended into inquisitions about respective siblings' romantic lives.
The conference was also excellent. It's always great to hang out with the staff family. The food was tolerable (we were staying in Nottingham uni - makes you never want to be a first year student in halls!), but the program was ace! God challenged me on lots of exciting stuff and I got a lot of vision for the coming 18months. We had a commissioning service for our departing National Director, David Wilson (now to be a European Director) and the incoming guy Andy Atikins, where we all got to wear posh frocks (or at least the girls did. Actually, come to think of it, I can't remember anyone wearing a dress) and clap lots. Even Mr OM himself, George Verwer turned up! It was also kinda sad too because barring a day or so in June, the conference was the last time I'll see a lot of the yankedoodles working in Liverpool (yes, yes, I do have a soft side to my emotions), who are a heck of a lot of fun to be with.
Schmoozing with our American friends. Don't worry, the facial hair has gone.
Thee food may be crap, but the campus was pretty.I also got forced to acknowledge how soon the project to Lithuania is (6 and a half weeks to go) and how much I have left to do. Made a start and bought all the flights yesterday, making a £1400 dent in my credit card, so lets hope nobody pulls out!
What else interesting to talk about? The abortive attempt at watching the Back to the Future trilogy in one go,which ended up just being two Indiana Jones films because none of us actually had the Back to the Future Dvds? Or the farcical story of my losing my phone down a sofa? Actually, I'll talk about none of them and go and have my tea instead.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Zwanzig Centimeter!
To those concerned, I didn't travel with my face looking like that. To the disappointment of others, i shaved it off. However I'm toying with the idea of growing something similar for the Agape conference next week....
Anyway, the trip to France was great. Short, but a great way to relax and stop thinking about Lithuania projects and such things. It must be said that the weather wasn't great - indeed, the woman selling lift passes tried to fend us off "But monsieur, 'aven't you seen le weather report?" When we replied in the negative she shook her said and muttered stuff about cloud and no visibility. Well lady, thankyou for informing us. Seeing as the weather is so bad, i'm sure it's no problem for us just to nip back to Scotland until the weather improves a bit. Or, on the other hand, keep your negativity to yourself and sell us what we asked for!
Anyway, she was only half right. The cloud brought with it lots of snow, and at some points there was even beautiful sunshine. The off piste runs starting at the top of le Grand Montets in the Italian bowl (so named after the Italian's who died in an Avalanche a few years ago), past the avalanche warnign signs, through the trees and eventually arriving in Argentiere at the at bottom after a vertical drop of over 1200m (three times in a row) was the highlight of the trip for me.
Thursday was a wash out. By which I mean it was proper minging. Ski resorts are supposed to have snow, right? Not driving rain three quaters of the way up the mountain! This meant that only the very top part of the runs had nice snow, and the rest of it was like snowboarding through a half drunk slush puppy - you know when you've sucked out all the syrup and all you're left with is munched up ice. I have never been so wet on a mountain. Fortunately, after a couple hours you hit saturation point and stopped caring so much. By the afternoon it was literally only the British left on the mountian -all the French had gone home to their vin chauds and creme cafe cigars. We even overheard someone in the lift queue complain about the same lift pass girl trying to avoid a sale by giving another negative weather report. At least she was right this time. But us Brits are hardy souls, and cry's of 'watch out for that rock Rupert' and 'Oh, thats a lovely carve Tara' could be heard bellowing from the lungs of folk still having a jolly good time.
Anyway, the whole holiday was great. I would rather had more time in the board park (my attempt on Thursday in zero vis led to me crashing, taking a wrong turn and having to climb out of a gully in thigh deep snow). French food is indeed excellent, and despite being rather tasteless, baby octupus was fun to eat (although is that ethically sound? Can the Octopii maintian sustainable populations if we're eating all their babies??).
Flippin Soaked
No idea what this cross was doing. I just hope it wasn't marking a grave.
Who's that sexy guy?
The top of the 'Italian Bowl'. Everybody heading down was praying against avalanches (of which the chances of one occuring were 4/5)
Mont Blanc. Highest mountain in Europe. Doesn't look it, does it?
Anyway, the trip to France was great. Short, but a great way to relax and stop thinking about Lithuania projects and such things. It must be said that the weather wasn't great - indeed, the woman selling lift passes tried to fend us off "But monsieur, 'aven't you seen le weather report?" When we replied in the negative she shook her said and muttered stuff about cloud and no visibility. Well lady, thankyou for informing us. Seeing as the weather is so bad, i'm sure it's no problem for us just to nip back to Scotland until the weather improves a bit. Or, on the other hand, keep your negativity to yourself and sell us what we asked for!
Anyway, she was only half right. The cloud brought with it lots of snow, and at some points there was even beautiful sunshine. The off piste runs starting at the top of le Grand Montets in the Italian bowl (so named after the Italian's who died in an Avalanche a few years ago), past the avalanche warnign signs, through the trees and eventually arriving in Argentiere at the at bottom after a vertical drop of over 1200m (three times in a row) was the highlight of the trip for me.
Thursday was a wash out. By which I mean it was proper minging. Ski resorts are supposed to have snow, right? Not driving rain three quaters of the way up the mountain! This meant that only the very top part of the runs had nice snow, and the rest of it was like snowboarding through a half drunk slush puppy - you know when you've sucked out all the syrup and all you're left with is munched up ice. I have never been so wet on a mountain. Fortunately, after a couple hours you hit saturation point and stopped caring so much. By the afternoon it was literally only the British left on the mountian -all the French had gone home to their vin chauds and creme cafe cigars. We even overheard someone in the lift queue complain about the same lift pass girl trying to avoid a sale by giving another negative weather report. At least she was right this time. But us Brits are hardy souls, and cry's of 'watch out for that rock Rupert' and 'Oh, thats a lovely carve Tara' could be heard bellowing from the lungs of folk still having a jolly good time.
Anyway, the whole holiday was great. I would rather had more time in the board park (my attempt on Thursday in zero vis led to me crashing, taking a wrong turn and having to climb out of a gully in thigh deep snow). French food is indeed excellent, and despite being rather tasteless, baby octupus was fun to eat (although is that ethically sound? Can the Octopii maintian sustainable populations if we're eating all their babies??).
Flippin Soaked
No idea what this cross was doing. I just hope it wasn't marking a grave.
Who's that sexy guy?
The top of the 'Italian Bowl'. Everybody heading down was praying against avalanches (of which the chances of one occuring were 4/5)
Mont Blanc. Highest mountain in Europe. Doesn't look it, does it?
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Oh, I'm not ashamed at all
Off snowboarding for a few days tomorrow, so no posting from me. I know you're upset, so to make up for a lack off my astute and candid observances on life, have a chuckle at some pictures that were taken on Friday.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
DTRs? no ta
Nothing interesting is happening in my life, so hence no regular or itneresting posts, unfortunately. I currently seem to spend all my time doing admin for the trip to Lithuania I'm leading (in only 10 weeks time...aarrgh!) and fielding calls that my boss can't take because he (well, his wife really) is having a baby. But I'm going boarding in Chamonix on monday for three days, which will be some welcome escapism! So to make it worth your while having read this far, I've picked the 3 most pretty pictures I could find in my photo album for you to stare endlessly (or at least for a couple of seconds) at. Actually, i would have done if blogger worked. But I'm too lazy to delete the last sentance so i thought I would spend more time writing these two instead.
Oh, and if anyone fancies buying me this book, I will love you forever!
Oh, and if anyone fancies buying me this book, I will love you forever!
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Are the men in yellow unfarily treated?
I thought I would leave this post for a while and allow all the other folk to get in their blogs about how exciting the snow was last friday, so that when I finally write about it, it keeps the excitment going just that little bit longer.
So no snow through January, or February, and then on March 3, by which time we're supposed to say goodbye to all the crappy weather and early darkness, we get a whole dump of snow. Snow is only as exciting as the stories that accompany it and this blog is no different. My second favourite story of the day was walking through the meadows and seeing some guys build the biggest snowman I have ever seen with my own eyes. When I passed, it was taking 3 of them to even move the ball they were using for it's body. I returned later and had a cheeky picture taken with the giant.
A story that is indeed not funny in the slightest, but at least made for some intersting pics.
A story that is actually funny happened further up in town. Me and my mate Pete spied an irate woman arguing with two traffic wardens who were in the process of giving her a ticket. Normally hilarious in it's own right (indeed, what is funnier than a grown woman stomping her feet and throwning a hissy fit at someone who clearly couldn't give a rat's ass), this incident was made more amusing by the anticts of a passing family.
Walking along the other side of the road, suitably attired in a chav uniform, the Father, Mother and Son trio strategically picked up snow and started hurling snowballs at the woman, her car and traffic wardens. Unfrotunately for the story's sake, they were awful shots, and none of the victimized partied appeared to notice, robbing the woman of a chance to direct her spittin poison somewhere else. However, to make up for this, the small child (who could barely make his snowballs pass the middle of the road) stood jumping up and down on the curb laughing in a manical manner. Why, I wouldn't be suprised if one day he grows up to take over the world.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
You're not leaving!!......SLAP!
This is what you're waiting for. I hope I didn't build it up too much.
At the weekend I had a most enjoyable weekend scuba diving in the town of Oban on the west coast of Scotland. Whilst the rest of the UK took cover from sleet, snow, high winds and baltic temperatures, we enjoyed two days of what can only be described as summerish weather. If you were in the UK this weekend, observe the photos and gasp in wonderment. I even got sunburnt!
The diving was great, as was the company, and I saw many exciting things:
A conger eels
Mermaids purse (shark egg)
Starfish feeding frenzy (yep, those critters can go crazy when there's a tasty crab to be eaten!)
Gary Glitter (not quite, but someone looking a lot like him)
A girl riding a bycycle down a very narrow single track road next to the sea with a snowboard on her shoulder. (maybe she was going to use it for wakeboarding)
Watching Scotland beat England at the rugby was particularly entertaining. This weekend also saw the annual Scottish Young Farmers conference decend upon Oban, with 400 young muscley types who sweat beer painting the town red, and we watched the game in a partizan pub full of them. There were probably only 4 or 5 England fans in whole place, and they got a lot of abuse. And Scotland won (for the first time in 8 years or so and deservedly so) -cue much dancing on tables and hugging of complete strangers. Comeon!
Saturday night the whole group of us had an 80's themed fance dress party. My costume was supposed to be Magnum PI - you can decide for yourselves how successful I was. I don't know how many of you ever tried to drink with a fake moustache on, but it aint easy. The hair had a knack of soaking up the beer before it reached my lips, and unfortunately the accumulated moisture was too much for it in the end and it breathed its last and feel off my face after a mere couple of hours.
Anyway, a very strange night ensued. We had planned to go to a few bars and end up in Oban's only club, but then we discovered the juke box in the first pub had an astonishingly wide selection of 80s classics which immediately got pumped full of small change. However, this was NOT the kind of pub you would go to under ANY normal circumstances. It was a locals local, small, very busy and full of people with no teeth, large women with moustaches and tatoos and several lonley alcoholics in severely inebriated states. I was VERY scared as we walked in. I'm guessing that had we been in normal attire we would have been immediately piocked up and hurled back through the door. As it was they seemed to appreciate our choice of outfits and welcomed us with open arms, slurred words and gep-toothed smiles and we stayed their for several surreal hours. (We did make it to the club eventually, but it was so pap and such a waste of £6, it's not worth mentioning)
And finally, my favourite story of the weekend. On Friday night we tried to get into Oban's only 'classy' (note the inverted commas - i say classy because it had a bouncer on the door. and an alleged dress code), only for the bouncer to turn me away because I was wearing tracksuit trousers. On reassesment of my outfit (trackie bottoms, blue hoodie - chosen for comfort on the 3hour car journey), I realised I'd never looked more like a ned/pikey/charver/scally/chav (choose your colloquial term appropriately) on a night out in my life. As we were debating what to do next, one of the guys decided he would have a word with the bouncer. A short conversation followed, after which the bouncer went inside, only to reappear and let us in. But what had Dougal said to make him have a change of heart?
"We're all member's of Edinburgh University Sub-Aqua club, and that guy you're not letting in is a devout Christian"
Evidently, my faith gives me license to wear comfortable clothes and not be a threat to the management or other customers! As it turned out, everyone had much more to worry about with the young famers turning up and throwing bales of hay around....
At the weekend I had a most enjoyable weekend scuba diving in the town of Oban on the west coast of Scotland. Whilst the rest of the UK took cover from sleet, snow, high winds and baltic temperatures, we enjoyed two days of what can only be described as summerish weather. If you were in the UK this weekend, observe the photos and gasp in wonderment. I even got sunburnt!
The diving was great, as was the company, and I saw many exciting things:
A conger eels
Mermaids purse (shark egg)
Starfish feeding frenzy (yep, those critters can go crazy when there's a tasty crab to be eaten!)
Gary Glitter (not quite, but someone looking a lot like him)
A girl riding a bycycle down a very narrow single track road next to the sea with a snowboard on her shoulder. (maybe she was going to use it for wakeboarding)
Watching Scotland beat England at the rugby was particularly entertaining. This weekend also saw the annual Scottish Young Farmers conference decend upon Oban, with 400 young muscley types who sweat beer painting the town red, and we watched the game in a partizan pub full of them. There were probably only 4 or 5 England fans in whole place, and they got a lot of abuse. And Scotland won (for the first time in 8 years or so and deservedly so) -cue much dancing on tables and hugging of complete strangers. Comeon!
Saturday night the whole group of us had an 80's themed fance dress party. My costume was supposed to be Magnum PI - you can decide for yourselves how successful I was. I don't know how many of you ever tried to drink with a fake moustache on, but it aint easy. The hair had a knack of soaking up the beer before it reached my lips, and unfortunately the accumulated moisture was too much for it in the end and it breathed its last and feel off my face after a mere couple of hours.
Anyway, a very strange night ensued. We had planned to go to a few bars and end up in Oban's only club, but then we discovered the juke box in the first pub had an astonishingly wide selection of 80s classics which immediately got pumped full of small change. However, this was NOT the kind of pub you would go to under ANY normal circumstances. It was a locals local, small, very busy and full of people with no teeth, large women with moustaches and tatoos and several lonley alcoholics in severely inebriated states. I was VERY scared as we walked in. I'm guessing that had we been in normal attire we would have been immediately piocked up and hurled back through the door. As it was they seemed to appreciate our choice of outfits and welcomed us with open arms, slurred words and gep-toothed smiles and we stayed their for several surreal hours. (We did make it to the club eventually, but it was so pap and such a waste of £6, it's not worth mentioning)
And finally, my favourite story of the weekend. On Friday night we tried to get into Oban's only 'classy' (note the inverted commas - i say classy because it had a bouncer on the door. and an alleged dress code), only for the bouncer to turn me away because I was wearing tracksuit trousers. On reassesment of my outfit (trackie bottoms, blue hoodie - chosen for comfort on the 3hour car journey), I realised I'd never looked more like a ned/pikey/charver/scally/chav (choose your colloquial term appropriately) on a night out in my life. As we were debating what to do next, one of the guys decided he would have a word with the bouncer. A short conversation followed, after which the bouncer went inside, only to reappear and let us in. But what had Dougal said to make him have a change of heart?
"We're all member's of Edinburgh University Sub-Aqua club, and that guy you're not letting in is a devout Christian"
Evidently, my faith gives me license to wear comfortable clothes and not be a threat to the management or other customers! As it turned out, everyone had much more to worry about with the young famers turning up and throwing bales of hay around....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
