Cygnet Rowing Club

Cygnet/BBLRC Go Skiing, Jan/Feb 2003

Is It Time To Get Up Yet...

An 06:30 flight meant a very early morning for the twelve Cygnet/BBLRC members heading off on the annual ski trip. This year we headed for the trendy French resort of Les Gets (pronounced Les Gets) somewhere in those big mountains on The Continent.

The group was lead by the Ex-Ladies Captain, and included "many, some or fewer" from Cygnet/BBLRC. Those "selected" to ski brought unique skills to the holiday. Marc(us Orelius) would lead solo sorties off-piste; Geordie and T would use their camauflage skills to ensure that their palatial room looked smaller than everybody else's cramped barracks; GoldaMan (Chinese snoring torture expert) could be relied on to extract information from captured enemy agents without leaving a mark on them; Huma "the brain" Syed would think a lot but not come to any conclusions at all; LJS would paralyse whole battalions just by talking at them before disappearing on one ski; Medium Mike would pick up the pieces.

Where's Tiny - the "Chalet Eight"...

The Forestiere Will Be Lovely When It's Finished...

Picture the scene. After many hours your weary travellers arrive in Les Gets. Bags are unloaded from the big bus and reloaded in the small bus (Munchkin powered) and the group are lead to the chalet by Charlotte, the resort rep. A short walk through the town centre, past an historic church and along shutter lined streets brought us to...erm...Stalag Luft Forestiere! Pre-stressed concrete blending timelessly with corrugated iron and razor wire. At least there'll be a lovely big, warm, luxury douche we thought!

Hardhats must be worn at all times...

Les Gets panorama - chalet circled and places Golda fell over highlighted in white...

Local school children were lurking everywhere...

I Haven't Slept All Day...

The nocturnal Kay(e), our incorrigable chalet girl, arrived a few hours later to welcome us to la Forestiere with "afternoon" tea. She was followed shortly by the two "strangers" who had nabbed the last room. They turned out to be the lovely Philippa and her arrogant brother Matthew - the best male skier in the group MY ARSE! Both were from Perthshire on a Granny sponsored skiing trip.

Not at her best during daylight hours, Kay(e) performed valiantly at breakfast time, but came into her own at dinner where her natural Jockanese alcoholism meant that she was able to concoct otherwise unthought of palette cleansers (which scorched the roof of your mouth). Tequila and berry compote anyone, or how about turps and lychee sorbet?

Il Fit la Marche de la Honte...

Pity poor GoldaMan who spent the week trying to improve his parallel turns but only succeeded in falling off of every type of ski lift that Les Gets had to offer. Indeed whole day's plans were aborted depending on whether he could get up the first button of the day.

Most notably, Mr Golder managed to completely miss a two-man chair by sitting down prematurely. Although he recovered the situation quickly by allowing the first chair to pass over his head before getting up to catch the next his acrobatics were given short shrift by the sexy snow-bunny operating the lift and he was made to do the Marche de la Honte (Walk Of Shame). Your editor turned round too late to see the whole event, but he did see the walk. You can recreate it if you like, simply drop your head and round your shoulders, then shuffle forwards with your feet turned slightly inwards. Mutter quietly to yourself for added authenticity.

Obviously Golda's "good mates" took him straight back to the same lift to see if they could induce a double. After drawing straws Medium Mike was selected to accompany Golda onto the lift and provide suitable distraction. Golda managed it, just.

Four member of the RGS go exploring...

The Pub Crawl Was a Resounding Success...

Party poopee Charlotte (Resort Manager) was surprised to see so many takers for her weekly pub crawl (she'd had two the week before and one of them went home early). Having dutifully paid our 10 (ten) Euros (francs) we were all given photocopied bog-roll with felt-tip stencilling entitling the bearer to exactly one shot from the dustiest bottle at the back of the oldest drinks cabinet in any establishment that we entered which wasn't being set on fire.

Not many made the whole crawl, which culminated in "free" entry at La Igloo (the igloo). I have it on good authority that Marc and Matt were there when the fat lady (quite literally) sang, but I'd been asleep for 3 hours by then as I am now 33 (thirty three).

Here, towers are know by the name "Girafe" you know...

Garlic - best served raw with a nice Medoc...

Ruth Spends a Birthday in the Buff...

Ruth Wilson celebrated a birthday while we were away and we were all invited to her apartment for a drink. Ruth was lucky enough to recieve a Buff(tm) for her birthday. You can see Geordie modelling a Buff(tm) a little further down the page. Think of them as a snood for the new millenium.

Happy Birthday to You - Grim cracks the Champagne...

Some of the handsome men "on offer" at the party...

Model Buff(tm) behaviour...

A foot massage would be nice...

After the party we went home and watched Thunderball.

LJS Just Can't Stop Talking...

Bloody nora! She don't 'arf go on!

The shuttle bus will be here at any minute...

Medium Mike leads a one-ski powder masterclass...

Has anyone got a shovel, LJS seems to be stuck...

Huma Does a Jigsaw...

Huma spent a large proportion of her week looking for activities that would tax her enormous brain. Having mastered skiing and reading upside down she decided to do a jigsaw. St. Pauls Cathedral apparently, although (when done) it looked more like the Sydney Opera House to me.

Huma downs a large whisky and prepares to do some sky...

Jockanese Speed Scrabble...

Fed up with endless Bond repeats? Played "traditional" Scrabble until it's coming out your ears? Here's a fun game that can be played by all the (Jockanese) family. Turn all the Scrabble letters upside down on the table and then turn them over, make very small words (c**t seemed a particular favourite) and shout "och aye" periodically. The winner is the first person to get it. Get it?

Marc makes a valiant effort, but Jockanese is still a complete mystery to him...

The traditional last day/last run home went "well"...

What Do You Mean I Have To PAY For My Drinks...

The three hours we spent on the tarmac at Geneva airport was lightened somewhat by the anouncement that the drinks trolley was coming round but, as the delay wasn't the airlines fault, we would have to pay for our drinks. Panic purchasing ensued, with an immediate run on red Pringles. I thought that it might all turn nasty (a la Gangs of New York) but wiser heads prevailed when a slab of green Pringles was found under the captain's seat. Apparently he'd been saving them for just such an eventuality.

Thank God that's it for another year, almost makes you glad to get back in a boat...almost!