Success, at the first time of asking

I write this quite literally delighted, all my frustration at malfunctioning internet streaming sites and endlessly having to click the refresh button having long since disappeared, as Spurs have just claimed their first piece of silverware under Juande Ramos, ending a drought of some 9 years. Whats more, Ramos (the cunning Spanish fox that he is) still hasn't lost a cup final as a club manager. It doesn't matter that Chelsea's team cost countless more millions than ours, it doesn't matter they all get paid the equivalent of a small third-world country's debt each week, it doesn't matter that the winning goal bounced in off Woodgate's face - we won. they lost, that's it.I'm sure I echo all Tottenham fans when I say that I hope, pray even, that this is only the start under Ramos. He's not the first manager of recent times to share the fans' ambition, but he does appear to be the first with the know-how, motivational skills and credentials to propell the club into the big-time. Spurs have been talked-up for the last few seasons now, but finally am I beginning to actually believe the hype.I think fans' favourite Robbie Keane summed it up pretty well: "Hopefully this is start of something special, hopefully we can kick on now. This was a massive test for us and a dream come true to come out as winners."

Nice to know the players and the fans are on the same page.

Où est la neige?

For around a week now no snow has fallen on Whistler. For those of us who will take driving precipitation, zero visibility and gale force winds so long as it means there's a few inches of powder under our skis (ie: me), the last week has had everyone doing snow dances. However, for those of us who like sun and sunbathing (ie: my girlfriend) it's been just heavenly.

The place has rarely looked so beautiful, and we are duly reminded just how lucky we are to be here to enjoy it.

Bursting The Bubble (part 1) - Vancouver on Valentine's Day

For all the dismissive remarks we may make about it being a cynical marketing ploy devised by unscrupulous greetings card companies, Valentine's Day usually brings out the more romantic side in people - my girlfriend and I are no different. W e spent the day in Vancouver, touring the city that was so disappointingly rain-sodden when we last visited in November. What's more, among Whistler seasonnaires a consistent part of the culture is the concept of 'bursting the bubble' and leaving the sometimes confined-feeling village to breathe in some strange air for a few days, if only to renew your enthusiasm upon returning.

It appears we didn't take that many photos, clearly too loved-up to be overly concerned with expanding our amateur photography portfolio. For posterity's sake, here are our efforts:

Vancouver is a rather grey city for most of the year.

A really big wheel. Or, a cog, as I later found out, that has been positioned hence to commemorate the opening of the bridge over to Granville Island. I think. I wasn't really paying attention, being more concerned with posing inside of it like the geeky foreign exchange students that have their pictures taken while perched atop the lions at the base of Nelson's Column in London.

The happy couple, enjoying their day.

Camden's burning

I was really saddended to read about the fire which this weekend engulfed parts of Camden Market - an area of London that's simply one of my favourite places to spend time anywhere in the world, and holds some special memories for me of the summer after my GCSEs and beyond. Now a wrinkly old man of 22, I still love to wander about Stables Market, the High Road and all the idiosyncratic little nooks and crannies which make the place what it was - totally unique.

To hear that a significant portion of it has been destroyed really struck a chord in me. I found myself actually nervous of returning to find it not the same place, and that it would feel very different - my connection of the memories of that halcyon summer of 2001 (not to mention counteless times since) would be weakened. Rationally-speaking, this is probably not the case as it's a fairly expansive old place and only 1 relatively small area has been affected, but one of the first things I felt like doing is making the short trip on the Tube to the station where the two branches of the Northern Line converge and surveying for myself exactly what has changed. My frustration at being thousands of miles and several months away from doing this is palpable.

It's odd that this event has made me feel both closer to and at the same time further away from home.

To the read the BBC news stories on the Camden fire, click here.

Whistler lingo (#1 in an occasional series)

It's remarkable how you can become a product of your environment, almost without realising - and speech is just one aspect of how the people you spend time with can have an effect on you. Recently it occured to me that since I moved to Whistler (with its blend of Canadian, British and Australian influences) I've found a whole new set of phrases creeping into my speech, most of which relate to the more enjoyable things in life, like partying, being happy, and snowsport accidents. Here are some of my favourites to be heard around Whistler:

Stoked (adj.) - well-known, this one. Translated as 'very happy' or, depending on which part of England you come from, 'made-up' or 'chuffed'. Implies a general sense of satisfaction with life and the world.

Superman (noun) - when a skier double-ejects from their bindings in such a way and in such a direction as to result in said skier flying through the air, head-first, like Superman. Often accompanied by squeals of fear and an inevitable thud, but not (usually) by lycra underwear worn over trousers. Found most amusing by snowboarders, for whom binding-ejection is much more of a rarity.

Yard sale (noun) - employing more visual imagery, this term refers to a collision or fall which results in the poor skier spreadeagled on the snow, with both skis and both poles (and perhaps even goggles, hat, gloves, sunnies, etc.) scattered all over the place, looking like it would if they were holding a yard sale. I had a pretty special one today, in full view of a beginner's lesson. If it didn't put them off skiing for life then they'll be alright.

Eat shit (verb) - not as nasty as it sounds, or much worse depending on your point of view. Quite simply, when you fall forward and get a face full of snow.

Face plant (verb) - similar to the above term, but more specifically when someone falls off a ledge, rail, box or other such raised level, face first, without any other part of their body or equipment hitting the deck first. An extremely painful maneouvere when performed on hard packed snow, you can imagine.

Pow (noun) - soft, powder snow - usually freshly-fallen and more or less untracked. Can be doubled up to form the much more risable 'pow-pow', as in "dude let's go get gnar-gnar in the pow-pow!", whatever that means.

Hooned (verb) - strictly-speaking, this one was already in my vocabulary but it is a term meaning 'to go very fast' and can well be applied to skiing down a groomed run or through a tree run so quickly that the skin on your cheeks is yanked back and turned a funny shade of pink, and as such I've found myself using it more and more often.

Spill (noun) - a fall, or when you hoon down somewhere and then hit moguls or a big patch of powder.

More soon.

The Great Whistler Pancake Toss

This Shrove Tuesday evening, a small gathering of a few Brits, mainly Aussies and even a couple of Frenchman (well, 1 man and 1 lady) united over their collective love of pancakes. Below, tout les accoutrements:

Our main aim was to steer clear of the ubiquitous doorstop-thick Canadian pancakes and go for something a little more crepe-esque. Our French guests contended that our home-made versions were a little thicker than French pancakes, and so were somewhere between the two. After much debate (and posing for the camera)...


...the issue was settled. These new hybridised battered goodies would be known as: 'Quebec' (or, French-Canadian) Pancakes.

Sorted.

Skiing, on a retro tip

A few days ago my colleagues and I participated in our staff Retro Ski Day. You literally couldn't move for one-peice suits and day-glo headbands. It was very special. Here are some highlights.

First, an action shot before any drinking took place. Note the authenticity of us having ridden to work in a retro vehicle to match our old-skool attire (the van in question being a rather sweet, rather shagged-out old Chevy, complete with lack of seatbelts and wood panelling inside).

Decidedly more intoxicated this time - after a few, we thought it would be a good idea to leave the comfort of the mountain-top bar to climb up Inukshuk (a local aboriginal landmark) and have our photo taken with the old chap. So that's what we did.

We are so cool it hurts.