The Hills are alive with the sound of 'Heeeeyy Baaaaby!'

Ischgl

Hit the slopes like a battering ram on a silver black phantom bike.
Sort of.

Tad rusty on the pins, glissadded around like a barbary ape for most of the day. I can still parallel turn, but the light was as flat as a dutchman's paddock, subsequently I barrelled around the place in little control.
As this holiday is a personal indulgence and I have no chumrades along to impress or disappoint I can pretty much set my own pace. to that end, rather than the ignominius boot camp that is skischule, I have engaged the services of a mountain guide, porter and personal ski trainer. Kurt (for I am certain that is to be his name, whether he likes it or not) shall be on hand to give tuition on the finer points of this art.

It has been sometime since I engaged the services of a local in this manner.

The last time was in the Canadian dominions. My young snowboarding instructor then was a zealous young buck but with a hint of wisdom beyond his years. He understood that to serve his masters well, he should know them well too - and that a little personal service will impress greatly, so much so that we would bestow upon him a gratuity. I need not prevail upon you the economics of the like. Suffice to say, they pay these coves buttons and they are absurdly grateful for gifts, tips and hard cash beyond their meagre rations.

During A post lesson beer with a couple of us, the subject came to music and he extolled the virtues of the current developments in British music of that time. He and his other gang snow chaps also bemaoaned the little access they had to it in the wastes of Alberta. Never fear quoth I! I had a large collection of CDs with me (This was before ipods and other such knavery) The duly set about 'ripping' the 'phat tunage'. Before long they were sharing a cultural cigarrette with me, and of rather profound cultural significance too.
Espying my delight, they offered me a portion of 'homegrown' to soothe my aching muscles.

Who was I to refuse?

The hand-over took place and we had a bowl of this rather nice herbal accoutrement.

You know what is coming don't you.

The last time I had smoked anything as strong as this was on a lost weekend in Holland. I was to spend the next two hours with these fellow doubled over in bacchanalian delight, as visuals skated across my vision and hilarity bubbled forth at the most trivial.
I then recalled I had a steak and lobster engagement with my ski group, and in the current state I was in - I could not be seen in public. I then spent the next hour desperately trying and failing to straighten up.
My stomach growled but my head whirred. I was tripping the proverbials off.

An hour later, I was eventually composed enough to depart and on leaving one of them said - 'Your bag!'. I had merely assumed I would be engaged for a few smokes. as they said - it was homegrown, and a gift from the grateful peoples.

Crikey.

I had over a ounce of this astonishing mundungus.
And I wasn't taking it home.

Only one thing to do. Have a word with some of the chaps I know with me.
'Chaos, old boy'
'Yessir'
'Fancy a doob? I seem to have rather a lot.'

His eyes went from wonder to delight.

Amongst about four of us we smoked the weed we endeavoured to get through it all. In the end, all we could do was give it away to a another couple we identified a the end of the week who would benefit. They got three quarters of an ounce.
It is my firm belief that when one does a deed like that - they get passed on to others. I hope to imagine many people that winter had a mountain high in Canada.

So.
One wonders what doors Kurt will open for me here? Pathways to elysium or roads to hell? With luck, he has a soul mired in hades and shall not spare form when it comes to pleasing his new master.
Either that or it will be like going for a light workout under the tutelage of Arnold Schwarzenneger.
Das flesh is veak English dog, but like Conan, I make you strong, Ja?

We have a rendezvous at five thousand feet.

PS: If you reconised that headline, it is one of Austria's few contributions to modern culture. It keeps the local buffoons dancing on tables high on that other contribution Red Bull.