Gregsy and the ski trip...
Way back when, my best mate Fish and I had another great mate called Gregsy who, to be fair, often consumed rather more liquid refreshment than was strictly neccessary often leading to much liquid laughter afterwards.

This is the tale of the ski trip to the Alps...

-cue wavey lines and shit-

~~~~~~~~~~~~


Anyway, middle of the nineties and the school has organised a lovely trip in the winter hols for the students to go skiing and the staff to go and pick up the chalet girls and do whatever adults did at that point.

Gregsy is in with the Fish and I in a nice room overlooking the mountains and the road below. Much hilarity is had on the slopes and off with many crashes, bruised egos and limbs and fun had by all.

Later in the evening and all the boys have worked up a massive appetite and lay into the buffet like a biblical plague of locusts. Once the bones have been picked clean it was time for a last minute snowball fight before it wass time for beddybyes.

Like the Von Trapp family, we all shuffle off upstairs and find our respective rooms. Lights out and all is quiet for as long as it takes for the teachers to bugger off before Gregsy's face appears floating in the gloom, underlit by his torch.

"Hey guys! Check out what Iiii got!"

We look over and see him pull out a large bottle of Vodka he had smuggled somehow or bought when the staff weren't looking. I don't drink but between the three of us there were four fully functioning alcoholics. Fish and Gregsy procede to work their way through the bottle, shot after shot, until both are as pie eyed as... (fuck it, you add the metaphor.)

Finally, the bottle lies empty on the floor and I am left with the task of convincing the guys that it is indeed way past late and getting towards early so it is now time to get some sleep you bastards!

Gregsy fails to see the fun in this and makes a poor descision in retrospect.

"pillow fight!" he cries with the enthusiasm of the truly plastered and grabs his pillow and beats poor Fish about the head with it. Fish was rather out of it at this point and reacted in the only way he knew how, with a savage uppercut to the bollocks from his position lying on the bed.

This proves to put too much strain on Gregsy's already far overtaxed body and, as any man who has ever been given a boot to the knackers will know, made him feel like emptying the entire contents of his body as soon as possible.

He did have the forethought to clamp a hand over his mouth but whether it was to stifle the scream or hold in the waves of vom piling out I will never know but it simply turned his face into Satan's own garden sprinkler. He staggers over to the window and parctically throws up his own boots for about five minutes before collapsing and crawling into his drippy bed and passing out.

Moring broke, as mornings are wont to do, and with heavy hearts, and eyes, and heads, trudge down stairs to recharge the batteries.

A hearty breakfast is had by most before the group gathers in the hall and out we all go for another day on the slopes. The sun is glittering in the sky and needling into our eyes like splinters when we look over and see a gorgeous Gun metal grey Merc SEL560, I think, with it's owner scraping the snow off it. Only it's not snow. No, this is rather...chunkier than snow and far, far less welcome first thing in the morning.

There were still bits stuck and smeared over it by the time we got back 6 hours later.

Who ever you were, Gregsy is so sorry, so very sorry.
(71 hour Ahmed wasn't working at, Wed 13 Jan 2010, 21:50, Reply)