Why You Should Spend All Your Money On A Skiing Holiday

Insert some sort of 'on the piste' joke...

We all know that a trip to the French Alps is not exactly the cheapest way to spend your holidays and perhaps not the most important use of your student loan. However, I hope to persuade you that if you find yourself with a tiny bit to spare or you need an (energetic) break from uni, a ski holiday is the answer.

The Mountains. Exams getting you down? Dissertation looming? Fresh air is obviously what you need! I’m not talking about the untouched fumes of the countryside, but the refreshing sparkle of snow and the glint of a freshly pisted double black diamond run. 

The Alcohol. Almost as important as the skiing, some might argue that it is more so, is the necessity to party and to make sure you get as little sleep as is humanly possible during your week away. Not only do you party like it’s 1999 (apparently that’s a song?) but you discover a whole host of drinks that you aren’t allowed to even sniff when back home. Toffee Vodka? Yes please. Smirnoff Ice? Totally socially acceptable when abroad! 

The Humiliation. Watching people fall over is funny. Falling over is quite funny. Causing people to fall over is pretty funny. Trying to do a CAB 1440 MUTE  (that’s a freestyle ski jump apparently) and then bailing is pretty funny, providing you don’t break any vertebrae in the process…

The Competition. There is no way of denying it, when skiing with friends, there’s a battle to be the best. Luckily enough, you can just about get away with whispering expletives under your breath while dropping that cliff without anyone hearing your cries of fear. You may be completely terrified, but you will have secured your place as the most outrageous skier to all those watching and can go home with your head held high (as well as your broken arm). 

Image: LA Observed

How Facebook Has Ruined the House Party

When parents think of 'house party' and Facebook in the same sentence, they automatically picture this: 

Or this:

and they remember those Daily Mail articles where Timmy advertised his party on Facebook and the next thing they knew, they had £300,000 of damage and an arrested son. Well, I want to argue that although the Daily Mail may think Facebook gets a party started, perhaps it’s causing a whole new level of apathy as well. 

With the invention of Facebook Events, it seems that the necessity for a reliable RSVP has diminished. We no longer require a calendar or even a memory; we just pop onto Facebook and see if we fancy the event happening that evening, causing us to plan our social lives far more spontaneously. Clicking ‘yes’ on an event has become more a recognition of it happening rather than an affirmation of attendance. Gone are the personalised text messages or even the more civilised phone call, in fact gone is any direct communication at all. Create event, invite friends, enter.   

Now this is all fine and dandy if you’re relaxed about the outcome of your party, but it seems to me that you have to invite four times as many people as you actually want to turn up. Now that sounds rather different to Timmy and his cheese and crackers evening. Whereas in the past you would invite 10 on Facebook and 100 would show up, arguably now it needs to be the other way around. Although that may be comforting for parents, I would argue that Facebook is ruining the student necessity that is the 'house party'.  

The Drunk Scale

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

So I recently found myself in the disastrous situation with a group of friends where we all seemed to be at a different level of drunkenness. Although this provided me with lots of amusement, because I didn’t appear to be the worst, it led me to thinking about all the various stages of inebriation and when we’ve gone that little bit too far…

The Tiny Bit Tipsy. We all know this delightful stage, you’ve had a couple of glasses of wine and can feel it but you’re fairly confident you will still be able to get out of bed in the morning. It’s just enough to persuade you to add a winky face to the end of that text, but not cruel enough to force you into telling your ex that you’re over them. 

The Moreishly Merry. So now you’ve reached the 4 drink mark, the texts become more cheeky and the drinks seem to go down faster. This is where you have to make the all-important decision, go all out or go home. Obviously the former is much more exciting and since you’ve had four drinks, one more can’t make a difference…

The Haphazardly Happy. You need to dance. Too much alcohol and adrenaline to sit still. Flirting with the bar tender is a necessity at this stage, and don’t forget confidently chatting to the fit guy/girl at the next-door table. This is it, the perfect drunk paradise, definitely the right decision to wear that top, you look fabulous. Then you decide to have one more…

The Shamefully Sloshed. The words are starting to slur, your foot gets stood on by some idiot’s high heel and you don’t really notice, you’re wondering if you can get away with a cheeky tactical chunder in the toilets…someone buys you another drink. 

The Painfully Paralytic. Woops. Time to start saving for that sorry/thank you meal you will have to buy for your flatmate who left the fit bird he was snogging to carry you home.