Ice Ice Baby

Winter is by far the bestest season ever. I mean summer's great with the long days and occasional sunshine, but it doesn't have the allure of winter.

So there's the downsides of winter. The days are short and everybody gets all crabby as a result. There's christmas, which is good because I get to see my family and take a bit of a break, but all of that comes at the expense of being bombarded with shite xmas music, ugly decorations and fearsome consumerism. And there's the flu and all that, which loves to take advantage of my pathetic immune system to make me sound like a terrorist on the phone for the best part of the season.

BUT...

There's those great days where there isnt a cloud in the sky, the ground is frosty, and the brass monkeys become eunuchs. Although rare, there's nothing like the incredible feeling the first rays of sunshine you've seen in weeks give you. And there's usually an ace skiddin run somewhere set up by excited schoolkids, oblivious to their granny-breaking potential.

And there's snow.

I'm told sometimes I act rather childlike when I'm happy. When I'm in the snow, I fully digress to being about 9 years old. Except now I'm old enough to go sledging at midnight, when the snow on Arthur's Seat is at its best. It's impossible to describe the sheer joy that something as simple as a few ice crystals on the ground brings me, but if you ever see me frolicking like a fool through the snow then you'll understand.

But the very best thing about winter involves what I've mentioned above, mixed with one of my other most favourite things: Mountains.

Mountains in the winter just look right. Whilst Scotland's hills are dramatic at every time of the year, once they become snow-topped they take on a whole new type of beauty. They seem so much more severe, more foreboding. And in the late afternoon sun they look like they glow from within.

Walking up a mountian in Scotland in the winter is also infinitely more fun than in summer. No midges for a start. But as well as the amazing views, you get the fun of strapping crampons to your feet and weilding a quite frankly menacing ice axe. Just to go for a walk. There's also amazing ice-structures and winter wildlife to be seen. I rarely go hillwalking anymore, but in winter I can barely resist.

Even better than that though is winter climbing. Winter climbing in Scoltand is at once the most and least fun thing a mountaineer can do. There's standing at a belay for hours hopping from foot to foot as you're showered with powder snow and ice. There's being buffeted with ice-filed winds as you teeter gently on your crampon points, several meters above your last protection. There's hot aches in your fingers, burning in your calves and icicles hanging from your nose. There's hypothermia (which is even less fun than it sounds). But none of it matters when you sink your axe into a perfect piece of ice or frozen turf. Or when you're near the top of the route slamming your front-points into perfect neve snow. Or when you get to the top and slip into your down jacket, instantly becoming impervious to the freezing temperatures and brutal winds.

Yeah. Winter's magic. Bring it on.

20 random tunes from winamp

To alleviate some boredom I've decided to do one of these 20 random tune things with the meagre collection of mp3's on my work computer:

The White Stripes - Aluminum: Bad American spelling notwithstanding, it's quite a nice little number. Just a crunching riff and someone going 'waaaaaaah' for a couple of minutes. The closest thing the stripes do to album filler I suppose.

Pixies - I've Been Tired: Black Francis telling a story about shocking a wooly hippie type by expressing a fear of sexually transmitted disease from prostitutes. And then Screaming 'I've been tired' a few times. One of the reasons why 'Come on Pilgrim' is ace.

Laeto - Bad Taste Party: Fuck off Laeto, you sound like Guns N Roses, only dull.

I Am Kloot - Morning Rain: One of the Wirral's best kept sectrets, the Kloot were originally bandied about with the 'New Acoustic Movement', despite being a million miles away from the twee stoners who embodied that 'scene'. God knows what most of these lyrics are about, but they sound great, and with fantastic melodies. One of my favourite albums to put on to sing along to in the kitchen.

Buck 65 - Square Three: One quarter of Buck's incredible 'Square' album, this is seventeen minutes of superb hip-hop. This sounds like no other artist you care to think of. His unique take on the world - old fashioned, romantic and quite frankly bizzare - is rapped eloquently over some equally unique beats. I will be sure to post a more detalied rant about how great his music is in the future. This square contains 'Stella', a song about the tragic life of an ordinary girl, which will fail to touch only the most barren of souls.

Minotaur Shock - Local Violin Shop: Yay! Some genius Bristolian electronica, with my two favourite instruments: drums and glockenspiel (apparently played by some sort of mentalist). Also, Minotaur Shock is a cool name, and the tune doesn't have any violins in it. Yeehaa.

Fog - Pneumonia (Coldcut Remix): Plinky-plonky-plink go some violins (being plucked) thumpy-doofy-thump go some drums while some bloke sings something that's more depressing than the music suggests. Has the singular ability to make me sing the line that goes 'I am a venetian blind' for days without knowing why.

The Delgados - I Fought the Angels: The opener from their stunning new album 'Universal Audio'. Shows the band's previous LP 'Hate' up as the self-indulgent misery-fest that it was. One of those songs that restore your faith in music.

Hexstatic - Auto: It's a pretty cool idea - sample some automotive type sounds and craft them into a track. Bit dull in practice though.

Sage Francis - Crack Pipes: Another of the great avant-garde hip-hoppers on the Anticon records label. It's not exactly a party tune, what with it being about addiction and all, but it manages to do the 'hip-hop with a heart' thing witout condescending. I will certainly be cheking out more of his stuff in the future.

The Rapture - Olio: I don't like The Cure. I don't like house music. This sounds like The Cure doing house music. I love it.

At the Drive-In - Rolodex Propaganda: AtD-I's 'Relationship of Command' showed that it was possible to have a major label deal and a big-name producer and still make hardcore punk that you could use to sandblast buildings with. Should have been as big as Nirvana if they hadn't imploded under the pressure. Right before I was supposed to see them in concert too, the buggers.

PJ Harvey - This Mess We're In: Yay, two of the best voices in modern music (Peej herself and Thom Yorke) singing a beautifully melancholy song about a complicated break-up. In New York to make it more romantic.

Jim O'Rourke - Mentalist record producer makes grand statement of a record. The cover has a picture of Jim's head on a baby being fellated by a toy rabit. The album's alrght but this tune is a bit crap.

Snow Parol - Run: You've probably heard The 'Patrol's breakthrough single. It's ace and proves why they deserve to sell a squillion records.

Actually, I cant be arsed to to a whole 20, as its time to go to another (!) bouldering competition. It's all a bit indie-boy and predicatable I know (I do listen to pop music and stuff as well, honest) but hey, why should I apologise for my music taste anyway?

A Quick Jog in Wales.

I can only see for 5 metres in every direction. I've just dragged myself and a rucksack up severall hundres metres of damp, grassy slope. We're searching for the next checkpoint, but I can hardly see Gaz, let alone a 2ft tall metal stand. "It's all gone tits up cos of t'weather" we joke, echoing yesterday's parking attendant. The sound of chatting voices piercing the fog, and signalling the nearby checkpoint is welcomed with unbridalled glee.

Hours earlier Gaz and I were stood at the startline of the KIMM, our rucksacks laden with our supplies for the race and our guts full of anticipation. Neither of us were aware of what lay ahead, other than fifty kilometres, a few hills and lots and lots of mud. We'd entered almost on a whim, and had been unexpectedly moved from the 'C' class (well within my abilities) to the 'B' class (at the stretch of my abilities). The months of nerves, anticiaption and even some training had led to this point - it was time to see what we were capable of.

Hahaaaaaa! Whooooooo! I'm barrelling down the valley, only just in control of my legs. The other competitors can see on our faces that these moments are the very reason we're in this event and gladly let us pass. The fog has started to clear, revealing the bleak rolling vistas of the Brecon Beacons. What the? ***CRUNCH*** A moments lack of concentration and I'm over on my knee. "It hurt a bit but it's OK" I reassure Gaz as we press on, convinced that the pain will pass.

In the evening, as I nestled in my sleeping bag I was wondering what on earth motivated me to actually see this event through. Surely only a burning desire to empathise with World War One veterans or a deep-seated mental illness could make you actually pay for the privellage of doing this. My deeply unsatisfying dinner of couscous with sewage-flavoured soup was battling away with several hundred grams of marzipan in my stomach. I was sure my feet would never be warm or dry again.

This is supposed to be the easy track at the beginning, but it appears we're destined to start day two trudging through what appears to be cow slurry. Passing the first checkpoint we start uphill and I can feel stabbing in my left knee. We're going to have to take it easy today to stand a chance of finishing without further injury.

On an event such as this, the course is vaguely pre-described but it's up to the competitors to find the best route between checkpoints. Experienced runners will choose a route that balances good terrain with short distance, whereas the uninitiated (like myself and Gaz) will choose a route almost entirely at random and spend much time hurdling heather tufts or yomping up unnecessary hills. There are times when we were entirely at the organisers' mercy. The organisers are clearly bastards. Well, they're fond of the odd river crossing at any rate.

It's OK. I'm running now, and after the inital pain I'm starting to feel good. We can make some good time along this ground. The big hill climb of the day is out of the way and the rest of the course looks pretty fast. We won't be making the same navigational mistakes we made yesterday either. Suddenly my vision is white as agony shoots through my knee. I nearly vomit with pain as Gaz helps me to my feet. "Are you OK to go on?" he asks. It takes all my willpower to dismiss the chance to quit and start limping towards the next checkpoint.

Now, I'm known to use some of the more colourful phrases in the English language from time-to-time, but my usual foul language is nothing compared to the torrent of filth running through my head every time my foot came down. The final ascent of the day passed in a haze of expletives and ibuprofen. I knew salvation lay beyond the top of the hill.

Endorphins. They come and go in waves, with spikes of agony in between. Just concentrate on not falling again. The world constists only of the track down to the finish, which flies beneath me faster than I can register. The grimace on my face is part pain and part elation as we storm past the cautious and the limping. Gaz keeps shouting me on. I know we're nearly there. The yellow 'Finish' marker looks more welcoming than any bed I've seen. We cross the line in total elation. We've done it.

So today I'm sitting here with blisters on my feet, sores on my back and a knee that barely bends. I finally arrived home at 2.30 this morning after a minibus journey that cannot be described without usin the words 'epic' and 'numbness'. My bedroom is strewn with muddy, fetid clothing. And I'm already looking forward to doing it next year.