The Further Adventures of an Idiot Abroad (23 page)

The sun was starting to go down, and so was the temperature. We got to the top of the small mountain where we would need to ski down to get to the place we would be staying at for the night.
I’ve never skied before. My school did a few skiing trips but they were really expensive things to go on due to the amount of kit you had to hire, plus my dad said I should learn to spell
before I learn to ski, so I used to stay at school and sit in a class with a few other kids and draw, so skiing was a new experience for me. One I won’t be doing again. I was useless. I can
understand why kids do it, but not fully grown men. People look at me strange if I start trying stunts on a BMX, but I don’t see the difference. I couldn’t get the hang of it. I was on
my arse more times than Norman Wisdom, so I ended up sitting on the sledge I’d been dragging around for the last five hours and made my way down that way. The temperature must have been
around minus ten, so I was looking forward to a hot bath. We got to the hut I would be staying in. The bath wasn’t going to happen as the hut was basically a shed with a bed in it. It was
freezing. There was a little room I thought was the bathroom. There was nothing in it apart from a tiny sink with no taps. Marty told me it was a room for privacy for changing in, but we were in
the middle of nowhere. A toilet was needed more than privacy. But he said pipes would burst in these temperatures so there was no plumbing.

He told me if you needed to go to the toilet you had to do it outside. He then showed me a piece of ice he had shaped like one of those Jubbly ice drinks and told me this would be used as toilet
paper. Makes no sense. Earlier, Marty had me eating ice after saying it was the cleanest snow in the world, and now here he was telling me that mountaineers wipe their arse with it. I understand
that you have to use what nature gives you and they have snow, lots of it, I understand them making igloos out of it, slush puppies, even have a go at making a frappuccino, but not wiping your arse
with it! No wonder kids don’t make snowmen round here if that’s what they do with it.

Marty sat and sang a few songs on his guitar. Funny how he didn’t have room in his bag for a few bottles of water or a toilet roll, and yet he managed to bring his guitar along. Here are
the lyrics to his song ‘I Really Caribou You’.

He had a few good songs and a nice enough voice, but I couldn’t really enjoy it knowing that if I needed to go during the night I would be wiping my arse with what was basically a Choc
ice. To think he was worried about my hands getting frostbite. Marty gave me a copy of his CD
Strummit From The Summit
. Something else he managed to carry. I went to bed. Normally I sleep
in just my undies as I don’t like pyjamas – I don’t like being too hot – but on this occasion I went fully clothed apart from my boots. But I still didn’t sleep as it
was too cold. I must have spent a good hour making smoke rings with my breath like smokers do in the cold air. At around 4 a.m. I got up. You might be thinking the reason was to get a drink or have
a wee – that’s normally the reason you get up in the middle of the night, isn’t it? – but it was neither of those things. It was to put my hat on ’cos me head was so
cold. When I was a kid I stayed in a caravan that was as cold as this. I ended up waking up with my eyes frozen shut. My mam and dad crept about the room thinking I was having a lie-in when I
wasn’t, I just couldn’t open my eyes so didn’t know they were there. I was worried they would freeze together again here. The shed didn’t even have curtains. It had blinds.
Blinds are all very well for a flat or an office for giving some privacy, but they’re useless when you need to keep the heat in a place. There’s that saying about good salesmen being
able to sell snow to Eskimos. They should change the word ‘snow’ to ‘blinds’, as the same applies. The hut needed a little blow heater of some sort but all there was was a
vacuum cleaner. Maybe the idea is to do some housework to warm up, but I was worried the noise from the vac would wake everyone else up next door, or, worse, cause an avalanche.

I eventually needed a pee so did it in the little sink that didn’t have any taps. Let’s face it, a sink with no taps is a urinal. What other use does a sink with no
taps have? I had a game of Patience with a set of cards I had taken with me and then thawed out a Mars bar by rubbing it between my hands. After that I looked through a few magazines I found on a
shelf, hoping to find a word search or crossword I could have a go at. Unfortunately, the magazines were all about guns, so not the sort of publications to have ‘fun tea break puzzles’.
They were just full of pictures of hunters sat on bears they had shot. Like all magazines there were adverts on every other page, but not for collectable thimbles or commemorative plates. Instead,
they were all for guns with slogans like ‘For when you need something bigger’. It was at this point I found a weird scribbled note on one advert. It said ‘Cathy,
MK
(crossed out), Card, Flowers, Gift, Dinner’. Using skills I’ve picked up from watching
Columbo
I deduced a couple had come to stay in
this shed for a weekend away. I reckon the man had booked it and planned on a shooting weekend, which probably didn’t please the woman (Cathy), and they had an argument. It looks like the
bloke then thought about doing her in by buying an MK (type of gun), but then he must have thought about trying to save the relationship one last time by buying her a card, flowers, gift and a
dinner. I might be miles away with my conclusion, but whatever it is, you have to admit that it is a weird list.

After a sleepless night, I made a call to Ricky who told me to make my way over to a place called Barrow. It’s one of the northernmost cities in the world, and I was to get a taste of how
Eskimos live. Part of my journey towards Barrow was covered by being dragged by Huskies.

Ricky asked me to make sure the dogs were happy. He’s always worried about animals, which isn’t a bad thing, but then he goes too far with his cat. I moan about it a
lot, but it’s ’cos it really does swan about like it owns the joint. Even when it scratches him he doesn’t slap the little shit. It gets away with murder and does nothing for its
keep. He keeps showing me photos on his phone and asking me ‘How can you not love that?’ But I can’t, and anyone who ever meets it will agree with me. I wish there was some kind
of pet swap TV programme, which would allow me to give it to some family who had a big dog and five kids for a week, as it needs a bloody wake-up call. It would be good for it. It’s good for
animals to work. It gives them a purpose to be on the planet. Dogs have loads of jobs – from leading blind people to sniffing out bombs and drugs. There was one I saw recently which had a job
of sniffing out bed bugs in hotels. Thinking about it, no wonder there’s high unemployment. People always say it’s foreigners stealing the jobs. It’s not, it’s dogs. I read
recently how even bees are now helping out in the workplace by detecting bombs. They’ve got jobs in airports and ports after scientists have taught them to stick their tongues out if they get
a whiff of any explosives. At the end of the day, I suppose there are fewer gardens in the cities, so rather than pollinating, bees have found other work to do. It’s only a matter of time
before the long horned beetle that can carry over a thousand times its own weight will start up a removal business, and yet Ricky’s cat will still be sat with its paw up its arse.

I met the Husky’s owner. He was called Bill. He was a champion Husky racer. Racing is the main job of Huskies these days, though back in the day they were the only way to transport goods
in these regions before snowmobiles came along. Bill was a softly-spoken man, which wasn’t good, as I had a problem hearing him due to his dogs making a right racket. There’s something
about dogs barking that does my head in. We had a neighbour who had a Doberman Pinscher that never shut up. It just sat in the garden all day barking. Why is it that it never seems to bother the
owner? It’s the same with car alarms and babies. Bill told me I’d have six of his dogs dragging me. Woodrow was the main dog in charge, and after Woodrow there was Olive Oyl. Stupid
name for a dog, but then I suppose when you have as many dogs as Bill you’re bound to start running out of options. The barking got louder, and I couldn’t hear any of the other names.
It was a bit pointless anyway, as there was no way I was going to remember all of them. It was similar to being at a wedding when people introduce you to cousins and aunties. You never remember
their names, and what’s the point in remembering names of people you’re never likely to meet again anyway. Bill showed me where to stand, how to slow the sled down, and how to use the
snow hook, which is a type of anchor that stops the dogs running off when you’re not on the sled. After that quick lesson in dog mushing, I was off. The dogs shot off at high speed. I yelled
at Woodrow to slow down, but I doubt it could even hear me, as it was right at the front, which was about 40 feet away from where I was stood. Thinking back, Bill should have started me off on some
smaller dogs. This is the equivalent of popping a lad who’s just passed his driving test in a Porsche. Bill could have started me on five pug dogs or eight Chihuahuas. Let’s face it,
there are so many breeds to choose from now. When I was younger, it was a Jack Russell for a small dog or an Alsatian for a big dog, but now it’s like coffee – too many variations. I
heard they crossed a Labrador with a Poodle to make a Labradoodle, so you can get the temperament of a Labrador with the tight hair of a Poodle. They should cross a Labrador with a Husky for blind
people who’re in a rush to get somewhere.