Ski-ing in France
Last year of secondary school, 1994.

One week of getting drunk and stoned in a piss poor French Ski resort.

Staying in a room with 5 mates all carrying 1/2 oz of Morroco's finest. Stories about customs and strip searches led to them paying me a 1/8 each to carry it all across or them. Charging the other kids on the trip £15 for a 1/16 of quite frankly appaling resin lightened my mood immensly.

On the second day we met a group of girls from somewhere in London and proceeded to spend nearly every night climbing out of our bedroom windows, shimmying down the drainpipe onto the garage roof and climbing down from there to meet the girls in a local bar.

All was going swimmingly well, my new found wealth proving rather popular with the girls. We decided on the penultimate night to throw a little party, queue myself getting caught lugging a crate of lager up the hotel stairs and only had half confiscated by the slurring PE teacher. An event that was later to have consequences.

the girls were snuggled into the room with a few of their mates, a select few more of ours and things are going rather well, at around midnight there is a hammering at the door and two teachers (incredibly drunk) are demanding the rest of the beer. Picture seven 16 year olds holding the door shut while a dozen girls try to hide and two other mates stash every trace of drug paraphenalia into pockets and socks.

The teachers eventually gained entrance and searched the place for beer. 10 minutes later they were skulking back to the shadows with a paltry haul of a dozen small bottles of the local lager.

The next day I was taken aside by the PE teacher and told that he hadn't mentioned the incredible putrid odour of hash to the other teachers as if I'd had the balls to bring some the least he could do was let me smoke it in peace.

Spend the penultimate day off the slopes with one of the girls on the pretence of having a dodgy gut (the local cuisine was appaling and no further questions were asked). Lost track of time and my mates returned to catch her and I in flagrante in the kitchen.

On the last evening the teachers all gave up and allowed every single person on the trip to get lorded on the promise that they weren't sick on the coach back the following afternoon. Shockingly nobody was although there were a few close calls. Wine flavoured belches etc etc.

Length? I could fuck myself.

QOTW L-plates burned.
(Avalanche - Purveyor of sexual deviancy since 1976, Mon 11 Dec 2006, 15:01, Reply)