From Dion to the Ditch

I should explain the random title. Last week, I was suffering Death by Dion, being lodged in a hotel reception and subjected to three CDs of synthisised pan-pipes and Celine Dion on repeat.

By contrast, this weekend I found myself with my colleagues in Wales, beyond the point of no-return on an off-road 4×4 trail having bitten off more than we could chew.

It was supposed to be a gentle way to unwind after the paintballing in the morning. After the climb up the hill of several hundred meters, Jason’s clutch was smoking and smelling of rotten cabbage. Lacking the low range gearbox of Dale’s Discovery, the Freelander was being pushed to it’s limit, so it seemed sensible to take the shorter route and carry on. This was perhaps not the best idea.

We ended up constructing sections of road, driving along a stream, regularly getting out to judge tiny gaps under the chassis and gritting our teeth regularly at the sounds of scraping and sploshing as we crawled our way inch-by-inch to the end.

At least it saved HR the job of organising a team-building course.