White Out

In the winter of 83-84 I started to learn to ski at school. This was a purely extracurricular activity which wasn't very common at the time as industrial action by teachers had put a stop to out of school programmes. After a few weeks of learning the basics at the local public park we were off to Glenshee for a day trip.

It was Saturday and I was delivered to the school for 7.30am. I was dressed in my best winter clothes, not exactly Klosters cool but rugged hillwalking layers. I had a good sized packed lunch and a flask of soup. There were a dozen of us, 3rd & 4th years heading up to Glenshee for our first day's real skiing.

It took us nearly 2 hours to reach our destination. When we got there it was straight on with the boots and skis and off to the nursery slopes. There was Craig Cameron and myself, a pair of complete novice hurtling along at what we thought at the time was a rare crack. The instruction we received that morning reinforced what we already knew and we got a few new pointers, like how to use a tow. Around 11am what had been light flurries of snow started to get quite heavy and the decision was made to break for lunch. Plan was to head back to the minibus, eat our scran and then go back and do some serious skiing in the fresh powder.

Alas it was not to be. First came the news that all the lifts and tows had been shut down, hopefully this was going to be temporary. The snow was getting heavier and the decision was made to transplant our party into the cafeteria on the advice of the police. Apparently the road out was now blocked by heavy drifts.

We settled into the cafe, 12 of us squeezed into a booth that could seat 8 at a push. The place was packed and getting busier. There were rumours of soup being dished out but I wasn't too worried. I'd cannily saved a significant portion of my packed lunch including my flask of soup. Boredom and frustration was setting in. There was nothing to do, nothing to read, no music or radio. After a few hours we were told to grab our gear as we were moving to a ski hire hut as there was more room.

This was a lie. There might have been more room when we arrived but it soon filled to the point that all you could do was sit and shiver on the floor as there was no room to move without standing on someone. A terrible, near sleepless night followed.

The next day saw us wander outside. It was still snowing lightly and there was still no sign of the roads opening up. We had some snowball fights, watched in awe as RAF SAR helicopters landed to take away the sick and infirm, massive Wessex and Sea Kings from Lossiemouth and Leuchars. As night fell and the snow got heavier again we once more squeezed into the shed. Black plastic bin bags were handed out to give us a bit of a barrier between our derrieres and the cold wet floor of the ski hire hut. It was too much, tempers were beginning to fray but a few of us decided to create our own shelters. Snow holes, quincies and igloos were being dug and built all around the site. What a difference. Two girls and two boys in my snow hole, huddled together for warmth and not one naughty thought all night.

In the morning it was clear and sunny. I was due to be taking my O Grade Economics prelim exam that day. Maybe not. Food was being handed out which was good as my stash was near exhausted. Rumours that the snowploughs were near to breaking through rippled through the resort and just after lunch the roads were officially opened. We got back to Dunfermline just after nightfall to find that our plight had made the national news (the resort closure rather than us personally) and was being followed by many anxious parents. Me? I was just happy that I'd missed an exam that I wasn't fully prepared for.

The Longest Day

In the Summer of 1985 the cadets of 1145 Sqn Air Training Corps went for their annual camp to RAF Buchan. Unlike the usual cadet camp destinations Buchan wasn't a flying station but a radar base on Scotland's North East coast near Peterhead. Its role was to direct interceptors to their targets in time of war. Interesting but not that exciting to us teens. We were used to busy stations like Brize Norton or Lossiemouth. Buchan had nothing.

The leaders had just about exhausted their entertainment options. We'd been dinghy sailing off Peterhead and down in the pit (the bomb proof bunker) that housed the Fighter Controllers and their support staff. We'd had a tour of the radomes which were supremely uninteresting. That said, I was seventeen and I really did want to have a career as a Fighter Controller and these were the days before FACs and AWACS.

Now some bright spark had decided to bus us all to Peterhead Power Station. And now commenced the longest most boring day I have ever experienced. The sun was blazing down on this great industrial greenhouse whilst some apparatchik explained how it was powered by waste gas produced from the Brent Oil Field in the North Sea, how many generators there were producing however many megawatts of power for the national grid. Tedious hours walking along gantries into control rooms, generator rooms, mess rooms. We were hot, hungry, bored. I remember Debbie Marshall kept handing me little tokens which I misread as being just plain irritating (I was always a bit blind to others' affections).

We were given an airforce packed lunch; soggy cheese sandwich wrapped in cellophane, a kit-kat or penguin, piece of fruit (usually an apple) and a tin of cheap sparkling drink (of the Pola Cola variety). At least I'd had a decent breakfast. Then as we awaited the bus there were huge clouds rolling in and a sudden thunderstorm. It could only have lasted ten minutes but it was the most interesting thing that day. After the deluge we went out into the blazing sun to await our bus, coils of water vapour writhing around our knees like we were in some kind of alien landscape. Debbie had shifted her attentions to some other chap, Graeme Winsborough, and I got on with the important things in life like singing bawdy songs or macho posturing.

Not to say that the week in Buchan was a washout. The weather was glorious. We had great times heading into Peterhead either for organised activities or impromptu fun of an evening. There was a Tac Eval (tactical evaluation exercise) where the station is attacked by special forces. This happened at Lossiemouth the previous year and we were in lockdown for 36 hours. This one lasted about an hour. Accommodation and admin were taken in 20 minutes and the operational site (the Pit and radomes) lasted less than an hour. All over before the end of breakfast. I've stayed friends with the guys and gals from those days. A great crowd.

It Begins With A Kiss

This is my life as were. It struck me that whilst I've been blogging away on livejournal and others about the now, the past is missing.

This is all about me to be honest. I know that at some point I'll start forgetting things and I hope to record some of my memories here. Random happenings from the last forty years all from my perspective.

Let's start with 6th October 1984.

Kiss were playing the Edinburgh Playhouse. It was going to rock. I was sixteen years old, brimming with hormones and now in my 5th year at school. I'd aced my O Grades and this was in part a gift for doing so well. I was dressed in my finest Italian Combat Jacket, stonewashed jeans and black cap sleeved T. My parents dropped me off at the top of London Road and I went in.

After buying my tour t-shirt I wandered into the auditorium. A bit lost I took my seat. The crowd built up and suddenly I was roused by the shout of "Scummy!" from a few rows back. It was my mate Kev from air cadets. I knew he coming but hadn't expected to bump into him. He'd obviously had a head start on the booze front and he got me a beer. The support act was starting, Bon Jovi.

The was Bon Jovi's first visit to the UK and only their sixth gig there. I'd heard there single Runaway on Radio 1's Friday Night Rock Show and was quietly impressed. They weren't disappointing. I remember a number of brassieres were thrown at Jon Bon Jovi, I don't recall many of the songs though.

Next up was Kiss. This was the second tour after they Unmasked the previous year. No make-up but still exciting. They opened with Detroit Rock City, the bass thundering into my chest. I was no more than four metres from centre stage banging my head with the best of them. War Machine was awesome and the bass solo by Gene during I've Had Enough (Into The Fire) is indelibly etched into my dura mater such was the ferocity of the sonic assault. The set climaxed with Rock and Roll All Nite with Lick It Up and Black Diamond as encores.

And so I left ears ringing, high on adrenalin and beer. My parents drove me home and hence to my bed. What a night.

I never owned a Kiss or Bon Jovi recording ever. Still one of the best concerts I ever saw.