Not wearing it to the pub.

(Read time: A VERY large glass of Villa Antinori, and a handful of Guylian chocolates)

I am going skiing!!!!

Yes, ’tis true. It’s booked, and I’ve got to be honest, I am just a tiny bit excited.

I know I’ve written about skiing and my love for it many times before, and those who know me best will be able to tell you how I wasted my 20’s on skiing. When I say wasted my 20’s, what I mean is every penny that I earned (and many that I hadn’t earned yet) went on chasing the white stuff. And by the ‘white stuff’, for the avoidance of doubt, I am sure you know that I mean the sort that’s good for your mind, body and soul – and not the sort that you find silly boys (in particular, though not exclusively) partaking in within the bathrooms of the local drinking establishments (I’ve never seen so many queues for the cubicle in the gents as I do on a Friday or Saturday evening in 2025… seriously, you all need a poo??? I’m not daft.)

Snow has always been one of my favourite things. We had epic snow weeks (yes a week stuck at home) on the Lincolnshire coast, where farmers would deliver milk and bread by tractor to the hotel down the road and we’d go and collect supplies and congregate in the bar in front of the massive open fire, with a pint of warm beer (or said milk for me at 5 years old), debating when the roads would be cleared… frankly I think many, like me, didn’t want them to be cleared. I was perfectly happy gazing at the beauty that I saw out of the window and that I would also lose myself in when it was deemed ‘warm enough’ to head out. Not surprising that we had a ‘warm enough’ scale really, there was no Gore-Tex in those days. We just had as many layers as you could put on, and still be able to launch a snowball. The Michelin Man had nothing on my 15 layers, including the Arran sweater my mother had knitted for me that made me itch like hell if I was wearing anything fewer than 8 layers underneath it. However, snow playtime wasn’t straight forward. From oversized wellies that would fill with snow (to become water), to woollen gloves that were utterly useless as there was no Kangaroo skin, or the hide of baby Elk (or whatever this years leather of choice is) at that time, and you’d either end up with the glove firmly integrated into the snowball you were making, or your fingers would get so wet and cold that playtime was over before it really began. That said, it was magical, and I am sure was a foundation for my obsession with snow, and therefore skiing.

Without any doubt whatsoever, I can say that it certainly was the foundation of my love for skiing clothing!

Before I start, let’s be clear, I love all ski clothing and equipment, even more so than cycling clothing and equipment. Yes, it’s true! From massively uncomfortable boots, to single purpose ski’s, base layers, salopettes, sculpted and padded socks, lambs leather and Gore-Tex gloves, back protectors, helmets and of course goggles that cost more than a second hand car, they are all bloody amazing, and if I could I’d wear them every day – a niche look walking around Tesco, but why not?

But, the creme de la creme, and I don’t care what anyone says… is the humble skiing jacket. It is one of the finest evolutions of anything (forget humanity, dinosaurs and today’s flabby formula one cars (that’s for another days blog!)), and there’s nothing I enjoy wearing more. From a humble jacket to something that does so much, so incredibly well. It keeps you warm or cool with amazing fabrics and fillings, and pit zips – omg!! It will keep you dry, through the work of wizards in preventing sweat inside and stopping ingress of snow (RAIN) from outside – but most amazingly from below, with the snow gaiter – double OMG! It’s mobile too – allowing you to ski freely, shepherd your loved ones around the mountain with multiple sets of ski’s on your shoulders, bouncing off ski lifts or skiing far faster than you reasonably should given your capabilities, and it does all of this without looking like a parachute or a tent. They’re hyper functional. I mean, a ski pass holders in the sleeve – I remember when these first landed, love at first use! Goggle pockets with integrated wipes on bungee’s (love this!), a hood (perfect for filling with snow on your mates jacket while their not looking so they get soaked when they take the jacket off, or even better when they try to put the hood up), pockets, and even more pockets… convenient ones for your phone and hip flask so you can access them on the chair lift – though not at the same time, I don’t know which one I’d be most annoyed about dropping. Can you tell I love them?!?!

I’ve had many over the years, and I remember my first very clearly, that I owned a full 5 years before I ever went skiing, it was called a ‘Ski-daddle’. I am sure it was a Grimsby market special, that was only remotely suitable for skiing given that it had ‘ski’ in the name, but a first nevertheless. But I’ve also owned the pinnacle of ski fashion and function, a one piece suit (yes, a Jacket that was even better than all of the reasons offered above as it included salopettes) and I still kick myself that I let go. I looked a fashion tragedy, but find anyone more comfortable than me on the mountain – no way! (I acknowledge that needing anything other than a wee on the mountain could be tricky… but that’s what the morning coffee when you open your eyes is for. Get it done early). Today I only have two ski jackets, a red one and a blue one, and I LOVE them both – especially to wear skiing of course, but more honestly whenever I get the opportunity. Whether on the sidelines of the football, walking to the pub, going to work. I don’t care. Oh, and the Snow Gaiter – fastened at all times!!! Yes, I am a cyclist, but deep down, I am really a skier.

So given how excited I think you can tell I am about a mere skiing jacket, I think it’s only fair to acknowledge that when I say I am a tiny bit excited about going skiing, I actually mean irrationally excited, a little bit like 10 year old me at Christmas.

[I know it’s far too early to mention the C-word (it’s even banned in at home until 1st December by my own decree), but you need to understand that when I start typing one of these rambles, I’ve genuinely got no idea where it’s going and it really is the first thing that comes into my head… so today, Christmas it is. Buckle up!]

I know late by todays standards, but in my childhood Christmases, even the mention of it and any tree considerations were prohibited, strictly, until after my sisters birthday on the 17th December… (not October like today!) so there was little excitement in the house until the 18th, and between then and the 24th it was a pressure cooker of trees, decoration and ‘When a child is born’ belting out from Johnny Mathis greatest hits. It would always be a time where we’d make our ‘Christmas Box’ – ‘a what?’ you may well ask! I loved that… it consisted of wrapping a boring old cardboard box in crepe paper of different colours and then sticking pictures all over it – I assume Christmassy pictures were preferred, but I am fairly sure I remember at least one Aston Martin and almost certainly a RAF Jaguar Jet… this would be where my presents would ultimately be placed, after I’d opened them, rather than all over the lounge floor like a military assault course of lego pieces camouflaged by packaging scraps. A great invention by whoever dreamed it up, and did make things quite simple and burn some mental energy in the process of making it.

But it wasn’t until Christmas Eve that I would lose my mind every year. It was, and still is, in my opinion at least, the best day of the year.

We can romanticise about the following day and the expectation of giving and receiving gifts, the sound of Nat King Cole in the background, with chestnuts roasting on an open fire (did anyone actually ever do that in their home fire?) and spending time with family, friends and loved ones. None of that really registered in my love of Christmas Eve, it was purely because I had my dad to myself, every Christmas Eve, all day! I think I enjoy the childhood memories of the 24th December as much now, as I ever did the event itself. We were creatures of habit… mid-morning hot chocolate in a Skegness coffee shop, a 30 minute drive away, buying some last minute presents, and normally what felt like £300 worth of Woolworths pick and mix (at todays prices). Then drop in to my sisters for another coffee (with Tia Maria as I got older), before driving an hour to Louth to go to a model shop to buy some injection moulded aircraft kits that would keep me occupied for the holidays. Then home for a Chinese with my Mum who invariably had been working all day, and then wondering where the hell we were, as we were always late home. (Sorry Mum, we were just too busy having fun and while I am sure she was upset, deep down I know she knew that it was a special time for us)

Knowing it’s 364 days ‘until the next one’ is a focusing feeling. Regardless of what the event is, it does make you think about what you’re doing and what’s next in a very different way. Ok, Christmas Eve is one day, and the main event follows, but I do think it’s a bit like modern day Formula One… where the most excitement is in the build up and interest around what might happen rather than what actually does. The pub on Christmas Eve is always full of happy people, sharing drinks and usually getting relatively rowdy, even singing carols. Where the pub on Christmas Day is full of people who you haven’t seen in there the other 364 days of the year, wearing their finest, sipping a sherry, while the Turkey cooks… just to get out of the house and avoid the family arguments and the mass compression of wrapping paper and boxes into a recycling bin that won’t be collected for another two weeks.

Annual events and how they make you feel, is an interesting, and Skiing is on point… there is a very different feeling sat on the first chair lift of the first day, versus the third and then last day of your holiday. The excitement of day one, and trying to assess whether it will feel as easy as you remember (you know it won’t), is replaced with the confidence and care-free holiday mode of day three (and perhaps a Desperado induced hangover), and then abject depression of day 6 knowing you only have one more day to ski and then go back to normal ‘until next year’. Skiing is infectious, nee addictive like that. It’s the perfect escape to take you away from the normal and put you in the ‘different’ box, where for those few days you are in the moment, sucking up the scenery, not burning as many calories as you think, certainly putting more of them back in than you burned, while totally absorbed in it all nevertheless, and living your best life. Or for me, that was true at least – I can’t wait for my next trip! Did I say I was excited?

But multi-day cycling trips are, despite my love for them, the absolute polar opposite, for me at least. I start on day one feeling the best I’m going to feel during the whole trip, and by the time I set off in the morning of the last day I’d really rather not be doing it at all, never mind have 6,000 feet of climbing and over 100km to cover. While my mind may well be rested, my legs, back, even arms, and most crucially arse will have certainly had enough, and I am almost certainly questioning whether I want to do it again. They are awesome events though, and if you’ve not done one, do one. And if you do get the opportunity to ride the French asphalt in the Alps or Pyrenees, absolutely do it! You won’t be disappointed, though you may even need more clothes than you’d take on a Skiing holiday. Even in June, the mountain tops can be brutal… and having seen the col’s Peyresourde, Telegraph and Tourmalet at 2 degrees celsius in the rain (yes, 2c in June), I can confirm that it is the coldest and most miserable I’ve ever been, and crucially the most dangerous cycling I’ve ever done – the descents were scary in many dimensions. Aside from not being able to see or feel your fingers to pull the brake lever, the water and road debris turns into grinding paste and I watched a very good set of brand new SwissStop rim brake pads get totally worn away in just 3 big descents – no joke. And while I had lots of clothes with me to put on (stashed in a broom wagon for whenever they were needed), once the Michelin Man was wet, there was no getting dry, and since no-one has figured out how to ride in a ‘Dry Robe’, I wasn’t going to get warm either.

But as Billy Connolly, if I recall right, famously said – ‘there’s no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes’. And he’s right. It’s no surprise perhaps that functional clothing has its place in whatever you’re doing, and it’s a crucial factor that can make a material difference to not only how much you enjoy what you’re doing, but also how you perform at what you’re doing, and therefore the end result (and sometimes, not to be too dramatic can be the difference between life and death – ok, that is too dramatic… but fact). And in that sense, I have one bit of advice that I have followed for as long as I have been buying my own stuff (not from Grimsby Market) – putting fashion aside (of course not, but let’s pretend) – buy the best clothing and equipment that you can afford for the thing you’re doing and you will enjoy it more and perform better (and may increase your chances of coming back in one piece if something does go wrong). You’re welcome.

Which brings me to my Castelli Perfetto cycling jacket / jersey (whatever it is), as I previously wrote about 5 years ago. It still amazes me how it performs whenever I wear it. In fact, I’ve just got back from a very soggy plod around the highly glamorous fens, and while everything else about the ride was truly awful, my body was cared for perfectly, with Gore-Tex material and great design working in perfect harmony. It’s got vents, it’s got pockets big enough for spare glasses (they’re huge!), and it keeps you dry and at the perfect temperature.

The downsides are clear, it doesn’t have a lift pass pocket, an integrated goggle wipe, or a snow gaiter, so black marks all around. Crucially though, it fits like a second skin, so while I really do love it, and think it’s brilliant at what it does, it will stay in the one place it belongs (on the road)…

And unlike my skiing jackets… I am certainly not wearing it to the pub.