Tottenham 5 - 1 Arsenal

Juande Ramos - my new hero.

Look at him. Isn't he lovely?

Death from above...

Skiing is, under normal circumstances, a risky business. But quite aside from having to dodge snowboarders trying to ride into your bindings and beginners weaving their unpredictable way in front of you, it seems there is yet another threat to your safety, coming from a most unexepected angle. The other day while skiing under a chairlift, around 20 metres from the line of the lift, a ski fell out of the sky and crashed down in the snow in front of me, following by what, on closer inspection, I found to be the front end of someone's ski boot. I stopped by said ski, and then looked skywards to see a 4 people turned backwards on the chair looking aghast. I did the decent thing, and dropped it off at the lift station. before going on my way. Had I have taken a different route under the chair, it could have been nasty.

Come over to the dark side

Ever since I can remember I've been a devout skiier, pious and unflinching to the last in my devotion to the dual-planked method of getting down a snowy hill fast. I attribute this to a childhood spent on skis and my parent's oft-espoused opinion that snowboarders were hooligans whose trousers didn't fit them.

Then, the other week, something in me changed. My ideas about the superiority of skiing over boarding ebbed away into the mist (or, perhaps, the pow?) and I knew deep inside that the time was right. And so this afternoon, under the tutelage of my good buddy Fin, I shackled my feet (oddly sheathed in a soft boot rather than something made of rigid plastic) on to a single piece of downhill equipment rather than the usual pair.

After a mere 2 1/2 hours I was already almost linking my turns, and was extremely encouraged to say the least. The dark side beckons.

Hello Mister Blue Sky

Today was the third straight clear (very nearly 'blue-sky') day here in Whistler, and with it the longest spell of good weather since we arrived. Unfortunately I haven’t been able to enjoy it properly until today but, oh boy, enjoy it I did. Above a certain altitude there was unlimited visiblity and the a shining sun – see the pictures below for evidence. Doubtless it’ll be overcast and miserable within a few days but in the meantime it’s been less like skiing in the mountains and more like being on a summer holiday.

And here's an awesome shot of a local landmark known as "Black Tusk", for reasons which I hope should be glaringly obvious.

Sweet air

Today I went riding with a pair of mates from work, and it ended up being a fairly momentous day - it marked the first time I've ever taken a jump on skis, properly, without getting an arse/face-full of snow. I loved it, I must confess. The venue was Blackcomb mountain's Terrain Garden (a terrain park for beginners), which was right up my street. The next time I'm on the hill I shall be attempting a rail, and will report back (with pictures of stonking great purple bruises, no doubt).

Live the dream.

Happy New Year

Happy New Year to you all; may your hangover be mellow and your general sense of well-being be regained by dinner time.

Best wishes for 2008.

Merry Christmas

Jimmy (and his desk) wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas.

Have a nice day!!!

Essentially, my new job consists of being really, reeeaaally nice to people. On Wednesday I sat through 4 hours of corporate orientation, which was effectively one long lecture about how the company wants you to be outgoing, helpful and just generally gosh-darn friendly with everyone.

I don't have a problem with people. I like people. And common sense tells me people enjoying great snow, great food and even better beer in the world's best ski resort should stand even less chance than usual of getting on my tits. As much as the orientation flew by, and was actually surprisingly engaging, all the acronyms and talk of "creating memories" caught me a little off-guard.

On reflection, I think it's because I'm British. Back at home, the words "service culture" register with your average shop assistant or bartender about as much as the words "Hershey" or "line of scrimmage" - that is, not at all. British service is seldom about anything other than surliness, whereas in Canada (and I speak only for this most northern of countries, as we dont venture south of the border until May) the people in the shops are encouraged to be genuinely nice to you. And not in a high-street-branch-of-Gap, "Hi can I help you?", forced-smile-and-unconvincing-tone-of-voice kind of a way. Get this guys - they dont care any more or any less than you want to believe they do, but in a country where even the middle-aged blokes who drive the buses and the twenty-something ones who scan your lift passes are disarmingly friendly with you more often than not, you start believing.

I'm sure the first few days or smiling and asking perfect strangers how they are (starting at 7:45am tommorow) will be exhausting, but I'm very open to the idea that it will, in time, make me a better person.

Christmas cheer (and other additions to our digs)

Tis the season, after all, so yesterday Anna and I ventured to a faraway little corner of Whistler called Function Junction (which is known by a number of other names, the most memorable of which is 'Erection Section' - but that's quite enough of that) and paid a visit to the Re-Use It Centre, a kind of thrift store on steriods. After trawling thoughts quite literally lots of stuff, we happened across some splendid coloured lights and a rather spiffing wreath.

But our pride and joy and the fruit of my lady's creative flair is our 'Christmas Table':

Finally, after hearing they were selling a whole batch off cheap, I bought this telly from a hotel in the village.


We are now officially settled in.

Oh how I laughed.

Today was an amusing day for two reasons:

1. On leaving a bar this lunchtime (I had a hot chocolate) I was approach by a Canadian snowboarder who asked me if I knew where he could get any weed. Except that wasn't how he put it - the phrase he used was "Dude, you know where I can snag some doesh?" (spelling, anyone?). I was a little taken aback and had to ask him to repeat himself, before issuing a very English "No, sorry I've no idea mate" and heading for the lift.
   

2. My moustache froze as I skiied down the last couple of runs. Crunchy.

First day up the hill

Much excitement today - our first day up the hill in Whistler. Conditions on the piste were good, if a little icy/packed where it was shady, but pleasantly rough and ready (it is the early season after all). After the last two days of white-outs and snowfall, today's skies were a virtually unbroken, cloudless blue plain.

Today was indeed a day of firsts, and the source of even more excitement was our first taste of 'poutine'. This is essentially cheesy chips and gravy, Canadian mountain-style. Tasty.

We are in Whistler.

Finally, the moment has arrived. The moment the last 6 months or so has been (in truth) leading up to: arrival in Whistler. After an incredibly picturesque 3 hour Greyhound ride up windy roads alongside perfectly still blue waters (see image below), my travelling companion (or 'Anna' as she's known) have arrived in one of the world's best ski resorts.

Such was our excitement that even the faff of having to get 2 taxi rides to check in and then get to our accomodation (the level of baggage we're traipsing round with is quite ridiculous) didn't dampen our spirits. Speaking of which, I hear Canadian Club over ice goes down quite well... More soon.

Oh Canada! Go Canucks!

We've arrived! Vancouver is a pretty pleasant city (you can really see why they film NY-set productions on the cheap here, it bears and uncanny resemblance). We've done a few admin bits and are just chilling now, but the real fun starts some time tommorow afternoon when we arrive in Whistler.

It's raining here, but that must mean it's snowing up the mountain, right...?

I'm leaving on a (British Airways) jet plane...

...and I have a very good idea of when I'll be back again. Not quite as catchy but it works all the same.

My bags are packed, my luggage weighed, lights turned off, etc. etc., so on and so forth. I'll be posting an update when her indoors and I have arrived safely.

England fail. McLaren sacked.

Good riddance to bad rubbish.

Set alarm clock to 'snooze'

My latest period of being a proper working grown-up, short-lived as it was, has now come to an end, and I am left with a few days to get my shizzle together (see last post below) ready for Canada. However, before I consign my receptionist days to the hazy backwaters of memory, here's some things I've learned:

1. Human beings have the inexplicable capacity to be complete and utter wankers. While the number of such ignorant people I met was extremely small (perhaps 1 for every week I sat as my desk) they can really get on your tits. Don't let the bastards grind you down.

2. If you can, move to within a few minutes walk of your local train/tube stations. Rammed-out buses are shit, bad traffic is worse, and as to the people who decide to close roads and dig fuck-off great holes in them without warning or justification at a moments notice - they are something else.

3. The presence of Krispy Kreme donut shacks in major mainline stations are both a blessing and a curse.

4. I love jalapeno and cheese-flavoured pretzels and Valenciana orange milkshakes from AMT Coffee.

5. I should really focus more on what happens in the office rather than on lunchtime outside of it.

Off the hizzay...

It must be my being chained to a desk 7.5 hours a day which has increased my appetite for funny websites. www.gizoogle.com translates any word, phrase or website into the vernacular of our 'street' brethren. So, if you have ever wondered what this blog would read like in gangster lingo (I know I have) then now you can see it for yourself. Fo' shizzle.

The first day on the job

Today was my first day conning my new employers out of some wages. In a word, dull. Essentially my job consists of waiting for the phone to ring, along with a bit of button-pressing and the odd piece of envelope stuffing (no paper-cuts yet, but its early days).

Apparently, they've been trying to fill the position with a permanent member of staff for a year. SO glad I'm only going to be there for 3 weeks...

Hallelujah...HAAAAALLELUJAH!!

This lunchtime I was sitting on my sofa, jogging bottom-clad, watching Scrubs and playing Football Manager on my laptop. And that's when it happened.

Yes, that's right, I recieved a phone call offering me three weeks work, right up until my departure to Canada. It's on reception for a legal firm, so I'll be sure to dust off my short skirt and plump up my man-cleavage for the occasion of my first day on Monday (it always pays to make a good first impression).

My fellow job-hunters, even in the depths of self-doubt, there is always hope.

Martin Jol has left the building.

Well not quite: as I write this, he's apparently in the WHL boardroom (hopefully delivering a few parting shots to the assembled suits who have made his last few months in the job a thoroughly torrid affair, before leaving with a reported £4m in compensation), but what is clear is that the most popular Spurs manager since Bill Nicholson has overseen his last game in for the club.

It would be unnecessary to grind out the raft of rumours which have circulated since about 8:45 this evening (when ITV4's coverage broke the story) but as yet nothing has been confirmed, other than that for the time being Jol is officially unemployed.

I, along with just about every other true Tottenham fan out there, wish him well and will remain grateful for the style and the passion with which he has rejuvinated the club during his (nearly) three years in charge. I only hope that the debacle which has been his protracted departure doesn't sour his or anyone else's memory of his time in N17. Thanks Martin, and good luck.

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