We’d all heard the rumours from previous years. Disorderly debauchery, ferocious fornication, indescribable inebriation and absonant alliteration; but still we boarded buses, naïve to what depravity lay ahead. To taste the fresh mountain air, to feel the crunch of snow underfoot, to sense the faint beat of “Riverside “ echoing across the French mountains. Were we ignorant? Would my confidence in Tom Sumner’s ability to pull underage poly’s wane? Would Schmandy Lawrence actually drink a bottle of Pimms and vomit literally everywhere? Did BCC actually have a BC?
Does size matter?
I will set the scene…
It occured a late winters night: the moon bathed the town of Les Deux Alpes in a gentle glow, the clouds hung low like Cunniffe’s package and the door “apartment” 62 was shut tight with care. As the wind howled about the rooftops, two figures lay motionless in bed, nestled among an array of bottles and yellow pages, oblivious to what the future held.
Twas a night during skiing, when all through the flat
Not a badger was stirring, as it would fuck up the format.
The Ouzo was empty, Vodka smashed on the floor,
and Gately “hadn’t pulled,” even though everyone saw.
Polys were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of degrees danced in their heads.
Andy passed out drunk, and I in my cap,
We had just levelled our heads for a long two hour nap.
When out on in the hall there arose such a clatter,
we crawled from the bed to see what was the matter.
Could it be Jake with his sexy moustache?
Could it be Sumner bringing home poly gash?
I had dreamed of directories lying down in the snow
Giving more figures than polys ever could know.
When, WHAT to my wondering eyes should appear!
But third floor Cunniffe, with a bird at his rear!
I quickly lay down as I felt kind of sick,
but knew in a moment he was a huge dick.
Louder then cymbals his chat up lines they came,
And he sang , and shouted, and called her by name!
“Cunn man! We said. We were both fast asleep!
Now you’ve made all this noise we will sleep not a peep!
You can fuck off now, or we’ll tell her the truth
A truth that can be backed by sight of your proof!
As Andy after some Pimms, the chunder does fly
Cunniffe called out our bluff and turned with a sigh,
He just denied it all, hoping that she wouldn’t see,
Why everyone called him the great B-C-C.
Unlike Joseph Watson, with his marriage ahead,
Cunniffe knew if she left, he had nothing to dread,
So he opened door and with her pasta in hand,
Pushed her out the door into the vast foreign land.
We gave him some shit, and the ski chat did fly,
and the memories of them nights will never die
The nights on the pole, the cuddles in bed
“We’re a uni not a poly” rings in my head!
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