The most popular person in the country

(Read time: A gluten free hot cross bun, and mug of strong English Breakfast Tea)

Have you read, watched or listened to the news recently?

If you have, you’d be excused for waking up each morning, and wondering what the hell might have happened while you’ve been asleep, and is the planet still actually turning?

I am currently wandering around in a daze, wondering whether we’ve all been scooped up, taken to a third dimension and are now living within a bizarre social experiment. Perhaps Big Brother with 8.2 Billion contestants – is that The Meaning of Life that Monty Python have been looking for, for so long?

Unless this is your first read of the Gabble, you will know that I am a huge skeptic when it comes to what we hear and see in the media (of all sorts), and understand what they’re up to, because they get paid to get people to absorb the tripe that they publish, and rarely are there consequences for mis-reporting… let’s see how the BBC get on with Trump – the British Taxpayer will foot the bill whatever happens – expensive lawyers or expensive settlements chew cash either way. So let’s hope the next series of Death In Paradise is a belter, because we’re going to need every penny of the revenues from the international sales if the license fee isn’t to rise by 2,000% next year (did you know it’s been licensed to over 230 territories around the world? Mind blown!). My strategy to deal with the media is to bury my head in the sand and not engage with it, and then as a result I am much happier in myself. I did this during COVID and it was vital, and I’ve tried the same recently, but I keep getting sucked back into, and bizarrely passionate about one thing… Greenland!

I’m going to try not to debate the politics or stupidity that has got us to this point in the discussion, or the ‘Board of Peace’ that is clearly someone’s drive to get the Nobel Peace Prize they so badly want, but clearly do not deserve. Their legacy will not be peace, it will be chaos and discord, not what the world needs right now. (Whoops, there I go again!) For the people of Greenland, it’s important, nee vital that they choose their destiny – simple! And further, Greenland is simply one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve not set foot on Greenland’s terra firma, but I have flown over it many times, and it is stunning. I remember the first time I saw it… on a Virgin Atlantic 747. Looking out of the window at the vast expanse of pristine white snow, with mountains and incredible seascapes with icebergs, it was another world. So much so, that I wasted £30 calling my father from the satellite phone that was at that point, in arm rest of their new aircraft. He was gobsmacked to hear my voice when he answered, and then questioned whether I should be have been in the air. I told him that I was, and I was calling to tell him how beautiful Greenland looked, and that it was costing me £30 per minute to tell him that. He called me an idiot for wasting the money and hung up! Thanks Dad x

The idea that this gorgeous land of snow, ice, rock and sea could become the centre of the arctic conflict is one thing. But worse still is that someone would take it for its minerals! Only the Greenlanders should decide if that ever happens, and I would imagine that they are that close to nature and how the world really works that they would do so sparingly, taking only what they need. What a concept – take only what you need!

Last time I wrote, I was also quite concerned about the news of Storm Goretti… and it standing between me, my airplane and some time on the snow and rocks of the Flaine resort, in the French Alps. Well good news (I know you’re relieved to know!), I made it! Even easyJet’s wings flapped as they were supposed to, and if I am honest, London Luton Airport was a revelation! I’ve not been for years, and it was magnificent.

The CEO of London Stansted Airport should go and take a look, and they would then understand what their shed of an airport could, and should look and work like. (uh oh – a rant) Seriously, I will drive three hours in the wrong direction to fly from anywhere if it means I can avoid Stansted, even though it is only an hour from my house. It’s simply not good enough and is a terrible (the worst airport for sure) customer experience EVERY time. Flawed by a chronically undersized terminal building, generating bigger queues than an outdated French ski resort lift system, terrible rail connections to get there in the first place (an ‘Express’ rail service from London that take 50 minutes to do 30 miles! Or the Cross Country Rail Service that is 80% on time, and 17% are cancelled completely!! (real stats, I checked!)), plus the highlight, the utterly Moronic Monorail (a new name for it Stansted – my gift to you!) to take you to and from the lions share of the departure gates, which is the single source of more stress related incidents than anything else that occurs on your 12 hour door to door journey to Narnia. There are some gates attached to the terminal too… but don’t worry, you won’t be able to get to those either, as bodies will be lying all over the floor blocking your way as there is nowhere to sit, and not enough places to eat whatsoever. It’s a truly Hangry place, and I hate it. Can you tell?

While the journey to Flaine largely went well, and Storm Goretti did not interfere too much, what nearly did stand between me and my skiing, were the Alps and the weather that side of the English Channel. When the experienced, professional driver who takes you from Geneva to your resort says to you, ‘it could be a little sketchy later, and we might need to put the chains on’, you know you’re in for some fun. However, nothing was funnier than me then offering to help put the chains on if he needed any help. This was funny only because I’ve never been in a car with snow chains on, or held any in my hand, nevermind actually put them onto a tyre. In fact my entire experience of driving in the snow is reasonably limited (as you might expect in modern day, climate changed England), and even though I think I am a pretty good driver (damn good actually!), my experience driving in the snow has not been filled with success.

You know I love snow. But I am not sure you know how much I love snow. I will stay awake all night if there is the remote chance I can get to watch the white stuff falling in front of our dimly lit street lights. Yes, I am that much of a snow fan… pathetic, I know!

However, if there is any need for me to drive anywhere, and someone mentions snow, my anxiety kicks in and I am taken back to being 17 years old, and driving my Mini (an original, not a flabby BMW version) into a speed limit sign 200 yards from my home. Seriously, I could have got out, shut the door and walked in front of the car and then stood between it and the post, I was going that slow. At no more than walking speed I caused £300 of damage, that’s £7-800 in today’s money. I was not popular when my father received the bill. But fortunately, I learned my lesson, and haven’t ‘crashed’ a car since. And while I haven’t crashed again, I did ‘leave the road’ on my way home from watching an RAC Rally stage at Chatsworth House, when I lost control of my gorgeous (again original) Mini Cooper, again in the bloody snow, but this time 6 inches of the stuff on a Derbyshire back road. This time I did some rallying of my own, riding a grass bank at 45 degrees, before styling it out (I can’t pretend I controlled it) and returning to the road like nothing happened. My heart rate clearly demonstrated something had happened, as did the pasty white faces of the two mates I had in the car with me.

Both incidents did nothing to detract from the brilliance that was the original Mini, also a brilliant first car (I’ve owned 3 over the years), but there were three reasonably major issues… 1) Mini’s weren’t blessed with ‘Rubber bumpers’… the bumpers were sold metal and bolted directly to the car, so were merely cosmetic, very much like the damage when I’d wrapped it so delicately around the speed limit sign. 2) Mini’s had the ground clearance of a boat… thus, in deep snow, the car turned into a boat without a rudder. At the point that the snow was deep enough, the number plate turned into a snow plough, and would force the snow up into the grill on the front and into the engine bay, not helpful. And despite being front wheel drive with relatively skinny tyres, this feature would eventually become utterly useless as the snow piled up underneath and the car would go, quite frankly wherever it wanted. Fun! Oh, and 3) Both cars were being driven by someone who had little experience, but genuinely believed he was the next Juha Kankkunen. You can go and check him out… and you’ll realise this was at best ambitious… but more reasonably ridiculous and the driver got what they deserved, and learned the lesson. One visible snowflake, leave the car on the drive, call your boss… you are ‘snowed in’.

Fortunately the journey to Flaine was not in a Mini, and I wasn’t driving. It was a very nice minibus, driven by Arnis. As soon as we left the Autoroute to begin the ascent up the mountain, the road covering was increasingly deep with snow with every kilometre that passed. The cars we saw were either coming down the mountain covered in snow, nose first into the snow banks, or being dug out of the snow. There was plenty of snow, and plenty of tension! Fortunately, I was being driven by the next Juha Kankkunen! I know he’s a professional and paid to do it every day, but Arnis was quite brilliant and his reassuring driving delivered me safely to where I was supposed to be, albeit after a mentally exhausting (for me, nevermind him) one hour drive up the mountain, around switchbacks, down slopes and navigating the rest of the carnage. I gave him a healthy tip and suggested that he deserved a beer… I needed something much stronger!

I don’t often say that I am good at things (other than driving), largely as I don’t think it’s cool and over-confidence rarely pays off (see above). But, I do have to say, that despite skiing only a smattering of days in the last 15 years, I’ve still got it. Much as I have previously professed my surprise at realising I am a cyclist, I have to profess that I am equally surprised that I am still very much a skier. Just as beauty is in the eye of the beholder, assessing your skiing capability is very much relative to what sort of skier you want to be. I am not for a second saying that I am the next Graham Bell, or heading to join the Ecole du Ski Francais to teach your kids… and I am certainly not a powder hound, or remotely interested in off piste. Nor am I a racer, though I have dabbled with slalom some time ago (a story for another day). But when it comes to ‘on piste’ skiing, I would say I can do it, with ‘some’ style. Again, I’ve learned a lesson here, and am now ‘in control’ (until next time I’m out of control) as I’ve done the really out of control and know how it ends… 2000, Killington, one broken finger. 2003, Verbier, a torn medial meniscus. 2010, Igls, one carbon race fibre helmet in the bin, and a reasonably severe concussion. All three incidents were on my own, my fault, and on reflection the latter was certainly there to say ‘go and have some time away from skiing, and come back when you’re older, have less testosterone and more to lose’. And it worked… and I am back… the Skieur De Terrasse* returns.

I was fully expecting to love my return to skiing, and I did. Completely! One thing I wasn’t expecting however, was the return of my (unhealthy) obsession with Piste Bashers. For the unfamiliar, these are not small animals that live in the trees and come out to make holes in the piste. Nor are they groups of youngsters who ski first lift to last lift every day, taking out the beginners, or anyone not doing the same speed as them. No, these are track propelled engineering marvels that every night (and sometimes in the day) emerge from warm garages, with the brightest lights you’ve ever seen, and spend the night turning even the steepest, lumpiest snow covered mountains into beautiful lines of ‘corduroy’, ready for your smoooooth turns, and demonstrating your tram lines in the snow the next morning (they even build snow parks… if you’re that way inclined). The process of bashing is actually called grooming and the machines are also sometimes called ‘Snow Groomers’. But for me, it will always be a Piste Basher… and the perhaps primary manufacturer is called ‘PistenBully’… get that, no car company can match that for ‘doing what it says on the tin’… quite simply, I have to have one!

Sadly for everyone else in my hotel, but fortunately for me, the hotel restaurant afforded me the perfect view of the resorts Piste Basher fleet leaving their garage each night while I consumed a glass of something tasty apres-ski, working the slopes in front of us (with the lights burning your retina if you watched too closely) while I was eating my Tartiflette for dinner… before then returning to the garage while I was having a croissant for breakfast. It was all too much though, and having bored everyone in sight to death with the proclamation of my fascination (nee love) for them, I was certified and have sadly not been allowed to leave France.

I’m not strictly a Lego fanatic, but I had to check whether they make a Piste Basher… that sounds fun! And you know what, they do! But it’s small and not going to satisfy my need for a PistenBully. I need a really big version, and if Lego made one, I would desperately want to build it. I know big Lego kits are expensive, but I’d willingly give up a kidney (if there’s one still worth anything) to have a PistenBully… Lego, you can have that idea for free… a Technic version that is about 60cm long with working tracks, blades and groomer please… perhaps motorised? For now, a metal model might have to do, as despite my obsession with them, I am not sure the PistenBully would make a perfect daily run around, or even weekend car.

Though, if you had one, imagine how cool it would be when someone you haven’t seen for a while asks what you’re driving these days, and you can say you drive a ‘PistenBully’. Ok, it’s just me, and my inner geek is all over this.

For sure the flat lands of Lincolnshire are not the most logical home for something designed to groom snow at 60 degrees, but I do wonder whether anyone has tried ploughing with one? John Deere look out! But it is really clear that if I buy one, there would be a big advantage in that I wouldn’t be so worried about leaving the house when the weather forecasters say the word ‘snow’. I can’t really think of a downside to owning one, apart from some minor niggles… the space to store it (they’re relatively massive), track longevity on tarmac, or the mud I am going to plough, oh and the fuel economy of a 7 litre diesel engine, and top speed of 17 mph. Some might think it’s impractical…

But, on the one day every ten years, when it really does snow here, I’ll be the most popular person in the country.

*The Skieur De Terrasse is the one who goes through the rigmarole of applying layer after layer of ski kit, including the most uncomfortable footwear imaginable, to ski for an hour before spending the day on the terrace, in the sun, consuming beer.