Iceberg dead ahead!

We came, we saw, we decimated,
We partied, we skied, my mouth is ulcerated.
My tongue is swollen, my mind is a haze,
So much calamity in only 7 days.
This is the story of the Fanatics' Ski Fest,
Of all my trips, this was the best.
So read on, it won’t take long,
Ta’mon, Ta’mon!

A cold December evening saw me, Glasso and Luke board a bus bound for Dover before the Channel crossing to Calais and the drive to Les Menuires in the French Alps. Arriving in the mid-afternoon it was time to hit the slops to teach the boys the finer points of snow boarding. Realising that my skills had disappeared in the four years since I could consider myself a semi-skilled boarder, the looks on the boys’ faces when I fell over straight off the lift was priceless. Although recovering quickly we managed to get an hour in before the opening night celebrations. This is when we met the girls of 305.

Now let’s pan forward a few nights. By the end of the week, room 416 (our room) had nearly got the entire group tour kicked off the mountain, had furniture broken, been threatened with arrest and had a member pepper sprayed. However, while the boys of 416 were always the instigators, the girls of 305 were never more than a step behind. While the boys helped give me one of the best weeks of my life; Emma, Sarah and Carrie definitely need a mention.

The first night started as a typical booze fest and ended with the group setting a Yeti Bar (local pub) record. This was 205 Jagerbombs – Jagermeister mixed with red bull - and 14,000 Euros over the bar. The previous record was 312 with 8,000 Euros over the bar. Yay us.

Arriving up the mountain on Christmas day, many were dressed in Father Christmas suits. Now I don’t mean to brag, but I’m an okay snowboarder. So, getting ahead of the pack, I raced down the mountain. At the half way mark I sat back and waited. I don’t think I can describe the hilarity in watching 150 Santa suits, hats and coats tumbling, racing, rolling and crashing down the mountain. Truly a sight to see.

At the end of the day, the party began. It started normally – Chrisy dinner, a few drinks, a hand stand competition, but then it got out of hand. Glasso, Luke and I decided that what we needed when the party in the bar ended at 1.30am was an apartment party. This apartment was tiny. It fits 7 people at a squeeze. So we decided to invite 20. That was until I got carried away - and invited the entire bar. At 2.30am we had 80 people squeezed into our room. We had no cups, many many many bottles of duty free vodka and tequila, and nothing to mix it with. It ended with most people passing around frying pans, kettles, bowls and juicers filled with vodka. At 3.00am the police arrived. In the next 4 minutes Glasso had been pepper sprayed, Luke had had his passport taken and attacked with a batten and I had gracefully slipped away in to the night; not to be seen until the morning. So apart from that, some streaking, a fire hose being let loose in several rooms and at several people it was a quiet night. We even had a special sign dedicated to us (thanks to Sarah for giving it to me at the end of the trip - I finally have something for my bedroom walls without having to resort to fairylights...).









The next night began with a trip up the mountain to Val Thorens to go clubbing. Val Thorens is considered the premier resort on the mountain, and according to Maxim Magazine, one of the best party places in Europe. Walking in with the Kiwi boys, I knew it was going to be a big night when Becks whispered:

“I’m going to get in a fight.”
”What if no one wants to,” I replied.
“Oh I’ll start it,” he said.

As if predicting the coming night, the former SAS doorman took us aside and before any trouble had occurred told us to watch it. Done. The rest of the night is all really a blur, with fire breathing barmen, me hanging from the rafters (literally), and members of the group falling asleep in the snow. Oh, and Glasso gave me the largest wedgie I think ever encountered by man, literally tearing my underwear off. Now this doesn't really add anything to the story, I was just impressed.

Now after Luke had tried to go and get his passport back from the police and the Fanatics director telling us that the mayor of the entire mountain (which contains about 6 resorts) abusing him and security guards with dogs being called in (I shit you not), we thought that we would have to calm down a little. So an 80s party was the go the following night. Now I don't see the fascianation with the eighties. I really don't. In my eyes the eighties is 'remission' of the 20th century. The cancer of the 70s needed to be healed, the 80s was remission and the 90s we were in the clear after technocolour t-shirts and Vanilla Ice were dispensed with. But people seem to love it, so I play along. Some impromptu pole dancing, a pash off and some after party partying contributed to another epic night. Although waltzing home at 5am to be greeted by three large french guards and a german shepard was unexpected.












A finally night of fun and frivolity was quite a loose event, with many stumbling, falling, rolling, swearing or simply putting on a show. Special word must be said to Dover and Marina for doing the best impersonation of a cheetah mauling a carcus I have seen since Wild Serengeti 1996.










I can’t really describe the trip in detail except to say that they have had to be the loosest nights I’ve had since coming back from the States. I could try to describe everything that happened, the sheer amount of laughter everyone had (I’m still struggling to walk my abdominals are so sore), and the amount of memories from the trip. But most reading this would be bored with them unless you were there. In the end it isn't the snow, the mountain or the partying that makes these sort of trips special, eventful, fun or memorable. It's the cast of characters. It's the Kiwi boys making up a story that Luke was gay until the age of 21 - and then all the girls were really friendly to him the next day. It's us making up stories that Matt spewed on the dance floor, the bar and the pool table (sorry people, they were all stories - except for Luke's leg - that was true). It's Em and Bros, Singo and everything she says, Sarah's identical t-shirt, and Cluck and Snowjobs crazy drunken antics.









Cheers all for making it the most memorable trip I've had. Good to start 2007 with you all. And as you can see by the looks on mine, Glasso and Matt's faces - we are also glad it ended when it did!












Side note: Specs, Dover, Mel, Carls, Longey and Disco – top work and sorry for making the job harder for you. If it helps I’ll direct people to your site (www.thefanatics.com). Oh and Specs – miss me big fella?