Snoopy in my box, more snow, still jumping around the mountains, veggie sausages and all quiet on the Swedish front…

 Well it’s probably boring to hear how much snow we had. So I’ll be boring and tell you how much snow we’ve had. Loads. They had to evacuate the village of Le Tour which is higher up in the valley as there was an avalanche risk. Its nuts. The conditions were also just in time for the arrival of my next visitors, my lil sis Camilla and Rob. It was Camilla’s first time in the mountains so I adopted the role of snowboard instructor and she was doing frontside slashbacks in no time. For two days of the week all the mountains were closed as there was just too much snow and if you so much as sneezed in the mountains you’d start a grade 5 avalanche. The good thing about Milly coming out was instantly she had a group of friends her own age as most people I meet are around 18 / 19 so they could talk about A Levels and University and the like.

Well snowboarding, I love it (click on pic to left to see why). I only started two years ago and it’s like why did I leave it so long? I spent many years on a skateboard so I picked it up pretty quickly – and let me tell you skateboardings much harder. The board isn’t attached to your feet and concrete hurts – I’ve had many a pizza knee and elbow as evidence. The great thing about snowboarding is a I can do all the things I used to do as a teenage skateboarder. I’m thirty yet I can be on the side of a mountain doing jumps with my buds. Wooping and hollering and generally being adolescent – and getting away with it. Just – I think. So that’s the general gist of things here. In the days I throw myself around the mountains. In the evenings I throw myself after Swedish girls. One day I will grow up but for now I’m happy being like the character Hugh Grant plays in About A Boy. When I’m too old and start looking ridiculous please tell me but for now I think I’ve got a few years left of this without looking like a complete muppet. And hopefully there’s also the happy ending like in About A Boy.

So I get all sorts of dogs in the DJ box. The other night someone left a hound in the club – obviously they got pissed and forgot about it. The poor mutt was asleep in the DJ box as it was quiet and it was obviously freaked out by the noise and drunks. I had to tip toe around it as I searched for the appropriate 12inches. At the end of the night the dog was still there. I walked around the club with the pooch in my arms to see if there were any claimants. No. Although it made me think how a dogs a great accessory as I was pawed by loads of drunken females as I walked around. So anyway I took the dog home. Please no puns about this not being the first time I’ve done that. I was excited as I thought it might be both my new friend and portable chick magnet. The fact that it had a little medallion with French phone numbers on it didn’t put me off. In the morning I called and got through to some French geezer who said it was his ex-wife’s. I called his ex-wife and left a message and left the dog in my apartment with an offering of Linda Mcartney veggie sausages as I was off in the mountains. I was really excited on returning and even went to the supermarche too buy some dog food thinking French dogs would be insulted by my vegetarian offerings. It wasn’t there. I searched everywhere. The only visible signs was the pile of brown doggy doo (Linda’s fault) in the bathroom. At least it had the decency to shit there – it was a thoughtful dog. To cut this long and perhaps random story short SA Jamie had taken the dog into town and it had wondered off. French dogs are like that – harder than English ones and quick at making friends. I wonder what happened to Snoopy? The littlest hobo wondered off for other adventures probably not involving Linda Mcartney but more than likely including brown, squidgy offerings in the carsi.