Rambling is the new Trainspotting

Rambling, not just for OAP's anymore.

It was looking likely that the massive amounts of effort that Dave Kirtley had put into the weekend of hiking in the Brecon Breacons was going to go to waste. The UK's freak weather last week bought the country to a standstill (I can't bring myself to say 'frozen'...) on Monday. Snow fell again on Friday, and with news that Wales wasn't letting anybody in, I had planned on a rare weekend at home. Some of the group pulled out due to the weather, but inspired by Glen's Clark-Griswald style determination to get to Wales, Butler and I agreed on a testosterone-fuelled verdict of 'f*ck it, lets do it'.

After several fishtails in Butler's impractical BMW along the M4 followed by a startled cry of 'whoooaaaaa put THAT in your blog' as the backend kicked about, we embarked upon childish arguments over the choice of radio station (I categorically will not listen to football talk-back), and mother-jokes before the Severn Bridge hit our eyeline. Carrying on the National Lampoons theme to the day, Butler and I then proceeded to do 3 loops of the same diversion, wasting half an hour as we managed to miss the same turnoff due to a combination of poor signage, obstruction from a lorry, and Butler distracting himself with a loving retelling of an amusing scene from Max and Paddy. 30 minutes later, after re-entering England from Wales for the 3rd time, we pulled up at a set of lights next to a van marked 'motorway association'. I must admit, I was surprised to see Butler's head leaning across me, but not nearly as surprised as to hear him abuse the startled motorways assistant with choice language. The poor fella was no doubt just on his way home, possibly to pick up a takeaway and some Brains whilst Tom Jones warbled in the background.

Saturday dawned in the home dressing rooms of Cardiff Cricket Club to 4 guys shivering and myself probably a bit too warm, if anything, in my awesome sleeping bag. £200 well spent. I'd clearly gone all out on this though as everybody else seemed to outdo me for trekking kit. So much so that I resorted to borrowing Jamo's waterproof trousers. Not such a bad thing normally, however Jamo is 6"8. My lack of prep flustered me and I began to get nervous as I contemplated the 16km long, 886-metre snow-covered ascent of Pen Y Fan. Never one to keep thoughts to myself, I was called all of the following on the car trip to Brecon after mentioning that I was nervous: fag, poof, gay, wanker, girl, fag, homo, and finally, fag. My fear was genuine and something that I can't describe. I put it down to a lack of mental preparation. I hadn't actually thought about what I was about to embark upon until minutes before the hike, and having recently developed my mothers love of military precision in planning, my lack of thought irked me, so much so that I thought at one stage my massive fry-up breakfast might test Cuzza's waterproofs next to me.

I have a strange reaction to nervousness. I fall asleep. Mark Waugh would often have the same reaction and be spotted nodding off just before going into bat. I've been told that it means I must be cool under pressure. I'd argue that it's escapism in it's purist form. It was a godsend on Saturday either way, as the overwhelming tiredness calmed me down and I grabbed about 3 or 4 minutes nap as B*witched blared out of BJ's speakers.

5 minutes into the trek and I realised that it was going to be tough. A combo of a lack of sleep the night before and the harsh cold air had left my chest a little tight. I was puffing and beading a little sweat. It's never entirely difficult to tell whenever I'm doing anything tough. I'm quiet. And there was a distinct lack of chat for the first 5 minutes. I then took solace in the fact that Blinky and Butler both had a puff on. It was only 15 minutes in that we realised we were all drastically overdressed. Sure we were walking through snow, but the reflection of the sun at ground level, combined with trudging the legs through snow meant the beanies, gloves and overcoats had to come off. After this we all relaxed into walk and it actually became quite good fun. We encountered a challenging steep cliff-face to begin with, the calf-deep snow exacerbating the angle, however it's clear we have all been doing the appropriate leg-work as it was taken on with gusto. 6 months ago, this would've been energy-sapping. Now, it merely whetted our appetite. Everybody seemed to get stronger and enthusiasm grew. Not even the freezing cold winds could dampen our spirits as we made mince-meat of the snow-laden track. Unfortunately the weather on the summit closed in like the sandstorm from The Mummy, preventing a final attack on the summit.

Coming down the mountain is close to the best fun I've had since I was a kid. Everybody was in great spirits, and to prove it we all carried on like dogs that had just been let off the lead in parklands. Kirt and Butler bounded downhill like cocker spaniels, BJ tumbled down the slope purely for our amusement, Glen slid down on his stomach like a toboggan, and the snowball fights reached The Guns of Navarone proportions. At one stage I slipped over on the ice, normally something to send me into a rage. However I slid 50-odd metres downhill, akin to a massive waterslide, reducing me to fits of laughter and completely juxtaposing my irrational fear of a few hours beforehand.

After punching Butler in the face 3 times for a 'banter incident', we headed off to watch three 40 minute halves of the best organised social-networking occasion on earth, prior to an injection of health food. It's fair to say that when you put a group of guys into proximity of alcohol and curry, the conversation flirts between serious political discussions, foreign trade, world famine, and the current economic crisis. I can categorically say that, at no stage whatsoever, did the conversation touch upon controversial and puerile jokes, bodily functions, immature banter regarding sexuality and sexual prowess, and/or genitalia. It just didn't happen. And we would never swear. Particularly at volumes that would make us glad we didn't have any identifiable Everest Test branding.

Back at the Rugby Club, we entertained the thought of talking to some of the awkward looking girls who were attending a 21st birthday party. However after one particular potato-fed brick-outhouse gentleman approached us and said something (of which I had no chance of understanding), we decided our safety should be paramount. This seemed smart as this particular fellow looked like he had been in at least 6-8 fights in the preceding 48 hours, with BJ mentioning that, somehow, he managed to have 4 black eyes.

Sunday dawned to a hangover and a smell in the room that only 5 curry and beer laden gents can produce. Another fry-up (I must give feedback over questionable choice of the 3 meals) was consumed before we embarked on a relatively pedestrian 11km stroll through the lowlands of the Brecon's. A highlight occurring in the way of stuffing Dave Kirtley's bag full of rocks, followed by several puns for the next 30 minutes as he struggled with his strangely awkward pack. By this stage he hadn't clicked, even though we'd managed to convince him that his favourite Oasis song should be Rock n Roll Star instead of his original choice of She's Electric. Dave managed to get us back though, and he delivered in spades. Our 11km walk turned a little awry after some impromptu wrong turns. After crossing a river that filled all of our shoes with water no warmer than 2 degrees, we tramped around for a further 8km. Expressions were fraught, senses of humour were put away, and patience was lost as we searched for the way out. Luckily we found our way out at about 4pm, around an hour before it got dark, which would have sent everything really haywire. Curry was particularly furious, as he didn't have waterproofs. It didn't take long, however, before his moniker of 'Map-c*nts' to describe BJ and Dave K caught on.

All in all it was another excellent weekend. Kinsey pointed out this was yet another chapter in my 'things I never would have done' list. Snow in London to me normally means staying indoors and watching repeats of Top Gear. Nowadays I see it as a chance to get some valuable climbing experience. This was probably my favourite of the weekends so far as it was the most similar to what we might experience up the hill, with Glen and Blinks displaying how well they are doing by hauling 12kg of sand on their backs all the way up Pan Y Fan. The banter on the trip was superb, and we have several very funny guys. BJ in particular stopped me in my tracks several times with well-delivered gags. The camaraderie in the group is growing at an exponential rate, with butler summing it up perfectly with his comment 'you know what, there isn't a person in that entire crew that I'd want to avoid'. And we both almost stayed in London.