Sitting in the Brewery at last orders waiting for Chis, and trying to work out how to get to Glencoe the next day was not lending much weight to the "Be Prepared" approach! "We will just have to squeeze in to Chisms mates car," we all thought.

Enter Chisms mates sporting an unhealthy enthusiasm for getting up at four in the morning and doing a route at the Bridge of Orchy the next day. It took approximately three seconds for alternative ways of getting to Glencoe to start entering the conversation.

Early to bed, early to rise as they say. So Chisms mates scuttled home to their pits, while Chis and the rest of us went on to drink more beer and pay Big Dave a visit.

The next day we settled on hiring a car. 170 quid got us a Fiat Punto for the week, and apart from being stung, we were happy as Larry. A few hours later - after the inescapable faffing time - we were sitting in the Clachaig waiting for Andy, Sean, Dave and Steve, while tucking into Steak and Ale pie and getting slowly but surely pissed - apart from Chism, that is!

In the end everybody turned up, with Andy sporting a lovely Tibetan style shepherds jacket, and the festivities began. It was unanimously agreed that the day after we would wander up into one of the valleys and search around for some ice to play on!

After getting up stupidly early we make our way up the valley through knee deep snow. Andy spots a lump of ice and we all head towards it feeling rather miserable. At this point Me and Dave A stop tagging along, and decide to do something on our own.

Obviously we didn't have a clue what this would be, so we descended back to the corrie to take stock. We take pictures of the other three, potter about, eat some tuna sarnies, climb a mound, descend the mound, climb the mound again, cross a stream to find some other ice, decide that wasn't what we wanted to do, sit down, re-cross the stream, sit down, take more pictures, rescue Chism's mitten and decide to head back to the cottage.

On the way, however, we spot a little ice patch that we decide to have a play on. VIII/8 is what we decide on, although I suppose we will have to wait for a second ascent for this to be confirmed!

Just before we head back to the car we check to see where the others had got to, but they hadn't actually moved for the past day or two!

The next day we went to the climbing wall!!??!!

Monday, however, was a different kettle of fish. It was Andy's last day, so he and Chis planned to do a Grade III - I forget the name and the area - while Me, Dave A, Duncan, Sean and Steve settle on Sron na Lairig - a classic three star Alpine style Grade II ridge. And this is when the festivities began.

Although Me, Dave and Duncan were all kitted out, all Steve had was a bicycle helmet, a walking axe, and a pair of strap on crampons. "No problem," we all agreed. "It won't be that difficult, and the first group can kick the steps anyway."

So off we went. We started off unroped, and as ever we suddenly found ourselves in a position where we would rather be tied together. This meant that Me and Dave joined up, and Duncan would lead Sean and Steve.

Dave and I had actually gone off route by this time, and found ourselves with some pretty nasty rock climbing to traverse into the gully - we reckoned it was about Severe, on loose, vegetated and slimy rock. I started to shit myself.

Eventually we made the ridge proper, where I took over the lead in some of the most beautiful scenery around. Dave A joined me at the stance and lead through, which is where I started shitting myself again.

"It's getting late," I would say nervously. "It'll be okay," Dave would say. "Looks like the weathers on the turn," I would say. "No it doesn't," Dave would say. "Hmmm, this belay isn't the best," I would mutter. "Cheers," Dave would say. In the end Dave got so pissed off with my constant whinging that he simply ignored me, which when belaying, made me shit myself even more!

Then came a shout from Duncan. "You haven't got a spanner have you?"

"Er, no. Why?"

"Because Steve's crampons don't fit his boots!"

Hmmm. Not only was it getting dark, with a storm approaching, and the belay under-par, but some bastard was resizing our crampons as a joke. I was now really shitting myself. Not long after this, with Steve trudging along in crampons about two sizes too small for his boots, he decided to launch his rucksack off the side of the mountain. Cue fits of insane giggling!

Still we plodded on, and came at last to the final two pitches, and what turned out to be the highlight of the week.

With Dave having set up a pretty bomb-proof belay, I led through to the most interesting part of the route - a short gap, with a 1000ft drop to the valleys below on either side. Fortunately there was a good sling half way along this, but unfortunately it fell off shortly after placing it!

This was followed by a very poor ice axe belay on the final summit head wall. "Don't fall off, the belay's shit," I said. Dave wasn't happy!

Still he followed me up to the precarious stance, then without waiting continued straight up the head wall to top out along with whoops of elation and relief.

I followed up shortly afterwards, to similar whoops, and couldn't stop grinning like a maniac. As our first ever Scottish winter route, Sron na Lairig met all of our expectations. Long and committing, with excellent exposure, and beautiful surroundings!

Having had the obligatory summit ciggy, handshake and cup of coffee, it was time to start the photography - I had refrained from doing this up the route, as I didn't want to drop my camera. Duncan soon joined us on top, and handed over his rope to Dave to continue the belaying.

Steve was next to arrive, along with his cycle helmet, walking axe and crampons that didn't fit. Not surprisingly - considering it was his first real climb - he looked me square in the eye and said: "Dave, I'm fucking shitting myself." As, I think, we all were!

Sean didn't take long to follow, and there was just enough time to pack all the gear away, descend to the coll, and fight our way down the snowed over stream to the bottom of the route before it got well and truly dark.

All that was left was a 4km walk in the pitch black, over rough and boggy ground back to the car.

That night saw burger and chips and a few pints in the Clachaig, while swapping stories with the others. Chis and Andy succeeded on their Grade III, but not without the odd mishap - hopefully there should be some photography to come! Mike and Tom probably did something equally as ludicrous as the Grade V waterfall they did on the first day!

The next day, satisfied with the previous days exertions and without the pressures of Andy, we decide to go snow boarding. Well, what can I say apart from "What a load of old bollocks!"

I had never done boarding before, neither had Duncan or Steve. So while we all farted about on the baby slope - which generally meant sliding down a tiny hill, then going back up it and sliding back down again - the other three got to grips with the better runs.

After an etenity of sliding, falling and cursing we felt justified in going down - and I promised to myself that I would never do it again. Although that is no doubt a lie.

The next day demanded something a bit more fulfilling, so Me, Dave, Sean, Steve and T decided to tackle that monster of mountains Ben Nevis. Obviously by the tourist route. We got to the top with little incident, other than a stupendous slog and T throwing up. We then stood around in a Force 10 gale for all of thirty seconds, and promptly descended back to the valley.