Our chalet in Meribel slept thirteen, which is quite big, especially when there are five people you have not had the chance to meet, vet or perform background checks upon. When we eventually arrived, I was introduced to the five northerners who were friends of a friend. They were very nice normal people, though one did strike me as strange.

There was Simon, Vicky, Sarah, Bob and Buzzard Bin Fucker.

“That’s an unusual name.” said I.

“Not really, there are quite a few Bobs in the north.” 

I find that when someone will be sharing your room for the next seven days, it is always nice when the first thing you hear about them is a story about them having sex in a big bin.  It pretty much guarantees that you will not be the weirdest person in the room at any point in the holiday.  You can also safely assume that you will not be targeting the same sort of women when out in the resort’s nightclubs.  He could go for the ones that do it in bins and I could stick to looking for women willing to have sex is seedy motels and Multi-Purpose Vehicles.

Some people would have been disgusted by his antics, but not me.

“Exactly what sort of bin are we talking about?”

“The Big Biffa ones, but it was only a one-off.”

It was the old “I only did it once therefore I should not be tarnished with this stigma for the rest of my natural life” defence.  You know, the one that groups of men have been ignoring for millennia.

I am not one to judge, even if I have never even heard of a trashophile.  Luckily though, someone must have called ahead to the chalet owner, as there was nothing larger than a waste paper basket in the entire building, so at no point were we subjected to a naked masturbating northerner getting jiggy with the rubbish.

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