Friday 6.30 am-hit the motorway and prayed for no traffic. Prayers were answered and the traffic was moving along just fine. Briars had brought along a collection of DVD’s to amuse everybody for the journey. The first one, featuring Lee Mack of .TV fame in stand up, was good fun. The second with Brummie comedian Stewart Lee was much less so-the whole 90 minutes seeming to consist of him telling the same joke involving Tom O’Connor and some sardines.
Brian’s superb!!!!! Navigating skills were then put to the test by the somewhat confusing road system of Glasgow. Soon the troops managed to get hopelessly lost-on the plus side it afforded a good view of Celtics’ Parkhead stadium-on the downside it also gave us the chance to see the less salubrious suburbs of Glasgow’s Southside-such as the infamous Gorbals, and other places that have become a byword for the less glamorous side of city life over the years.
Nevertheless after a couple of short stops we eventually found our way out of the McMaze and were soon heading out on the M8 to the more scenic areas of the Scottish countryside. Loch Lomond was suitably impressive-not least when we came upon a place called Luss, which offered the opportunity to top up our supply of jelly babies-I’d forgotten how much I like the green ones.
After taking in the breathtaking scenery of Glencoe we finally arrived at Fort William by 3 p.m. Dave & Briars checked in at the hotel but Phil took his chances with his one man micro-tent at the local campsite (population = Phil !) Dave & Brian spent 10 minutes trying to open Dave’s hotel room door before realising that they were trying to get in the wrong room however a rendezvous was arranged by phone with Phil, after establishing via Radio 4, that England were getting mullered in the cricket. There was just enough time for a lady who worked at the hotel gym to inform us that there was “no way” we’d make an ascent of Ben Nevis tomorrow without ice crampons-bah!
We wondered through the bright lights of Fort William, eventually finding the aptly named Ben Nevis Restaurant and bar, which offered good local grub and the chance of a pint-Phil, sampled the haggis, which was good and we retired to the bar downstairs for liquid sustenance. At this point Phil’s sensible new haircut prompted us to christen him with the first of his several look-alike nicknames for the weekend-Elton John, Baz (Sid the Sexist from Viz’s mate) and Alan Bennett being the most popular.
The tradition of Chaps’ thrashings at the hands of the quiz machine was maintained and all seemed quite fine and dandy until firstly a row broke out amongst some of the natives and following this the local nutter sought Briars out just before closing time- a 60-something ex-paratrooper with his medals blazing, he seemed very impressed with Briars’ physique, which prompted him to open his shirt to show off his (not so) taught 12-pack. He didn’t seem too taken with Dave however, consistently mispronouncing his name as Davey and for some reason taking him for a Cockney-and he was completely oblivious to Mr Atkins’ presence. Phil/Elton/Baz and Dave decided enough was enough and left promptly leaving poor old Brian to make his excuses to free himself from his unwanted companion.
Saturday dawned somewhat depressingly with snow in the air-and a look up to the mountains seemed to confirm our worst fears that the expedition up the Ben was going to be a bust. However we all set off from the Claggan Industrial Estate (hardly Gravelly Hill) with our (very unflattering) thermal base layers on-let me say they do nothing for you on a vanity level-and took the surprisingly long walk to the start of the Ben Nevis trail . The views around us were spectacular but fairly intimidating as the signs warned of the snow line being down to 600m freezing level of 650 m and a wind chill of minus 18C. We trudged up skywards and as predicted hit the snow level within 2 hours-there were suspiciously few people around but we did meet one local on his way down who told us that things were rather hostile from a weather point of view higher up. Dave eventually decided as he was slipping and sliding his way along that although he could probably continue on his way up -the route back down was going to be a suicide mission for him and sidled off down to a lower level for a trek along the river.
Phil and briars carried on with good old British spirit, although the sherpas hadn’t turned up to carry the pimms! The trail was long and tough due to the snow getting deeper the higher they got , they lost the trail a couple of times and at one point came across a couple perched on a rock who said they couldn’t get to the top without crampons , sounds familiar! Onwards they went, not getting any easier, about 800ft from the top the wind picked up blowing snow horizontal, the clouds were not too low and visibility was good so they carried on, people they met coming down were saying “keep going” and “ only 20 mins and you’ll be there”
They hit the top after a really tough final ascent; about 8 people were there, along with 3 pools of sick and 4 pools of piss, brians not phils!
15mins later they were running down through thick snow with very tired limbs, great! The paths were hard to make out so they went ‘as the crow flies’ BIG MISTAKE!! Ending up at the top of an ice sheet, Phil lost his footing and slid down about 40ft with no control, shit his pants, luckily hit a rock and grabbed another which stopped him, in front was a big rocky stretch and a certain drop to dead fat bloke! Brian, in his wisdom followed Phil, and slid down on his arse, out of control; luckily he hit Mr Atkins, a rock and stopped. A bit of swearing then ensued; followed by firm handshakes and an agreement to stick to what looked like a track.
It took about 3-4 hours to get down, long old trek and loads of snow! Thoughts turned to Dave and what he had been doing, on his own, in a hotel room, all afternoon……..mmm
Finally got back to the hotel around 630ish, and as suspected, Dave looked more tired than both Phil and Brian
Brian hobbled into the bar looking like John Wayne (complete with Steptoe music) and Phil decided to soothe his aching limbs by booking a night in the hotel-obviously a hard bed and a handy loo were treats too good to miss. Brian’s agony was temporarily forgotten when a Nigel McWalters look-alike sauntered into the bar and we also had a pleasant chat with a local old boy who was collecting on behalf of the Local Mountain Rescue Service-turned out he wasn’t so local but was a Glaswegian, who eulogized about the job Martin O’Neill had done for the Villa and his club Celtic, and then promptly ruined it by saying “by the way lads Birmingham is a dump” to which Dave replied “so is Glasgow-now give us our money back you cheeky old sod” but it was all in good fun. Eventually we had to go in search of food so we lobbed in a taxi to go into town.
After a (very) short mosey round FW we decided to stick with the Ben Nevis Restaurant, which kindly stayed open a wee bit longer in order to accommodate our arrival-Phil and Dave had the Haggis in Whiskey sauce starter and some great fish but Briars stuck with the Burger and Chips option-we again retired to the bar, where Phil kept us amused into the night with his (uncannily accurate) Jade Goody impressions . By this time legs and minds were struggling to function so we returned to the hotel to witness the rather surreal School Disco night that consisted of a local D.J belting out loads of 70s, 80s and 90s standards to no-one in particular. The sight of the lady from the gym in her school uniform gear seemed to perk Brian up no end though-hope he didn’t leave anything unpleasant in his room for the maid to clear up!!
On Sunday we reconvened for breakfast (no kippers this time-very disappointing) and decided to drive up to the Kyle of Lochalsh-and hop on the bridge to the Isle of Skye-stunning drive, stunning views and decent weather until we reached Skye, whereupon the heavens opened. We drove through Broadford Bay and found a young lady walking on the road-Phil kindly offered her a lift and it turned out she was heading off for a another 12 miles or so, virtually all the way to Portree “How were you gonna walk all that way in this weather” asked Brian (or did he really ask? “Hi I’m Brian-what’s your favourite colour/star sign etc” after all the boy is never off duty) “Ach this is just a light shower by Skye Standards-you’ll find that you’re spoilt for weather on the mainland”!!!!!!!!!!!! Replied our hitcher. “”
We headed back to the (tropical !!!!) mainland and lo and behold it stopped raining Brian then dozed off in the car on the way back-unfortunately this led to the relaxation of one or two more muscles than was appropriate-and the car was soon humming to some less than edifying niffs.
Another pleasant evening was whiled away at the Ben Nevis and Phil and Briars then had a few free beers back at the hotel courtesy of the rather dopey night porter.
Up early on Monday morning ready for the 9-hour drive back to Brum-which was enhanced by the beautiful scenery of Glen Coe again and only ruined by a tailback on the M6 just outside Sandbach.