This was the club’s annual Bridgemas trip and the festive spirit was strong with all. Where Santa’s sleigh is pulled through the air by Reindeers - Bill’s car was pulled through a river by passengers. Where Robins dance in the snow - walkers trudged in the rain. Where carollers sing gleefully on doorsteps - Chris snored so loudly people moved rooms. Saturday saw the majority of the group walk from the bunkhouse to the Tan Hill inn, the UK’s highest pub, and an hour later stagger from the Tan Hill inn to the bunkhouse. Upon their return, the group continued to drink, not wanting to go cold turkey. A mammoth effort was put in by all to cook the Christmas dinner, not wanting to go cold turkey. In a move that shocked all, the Christmas dinner was lovely, even if the turkey was fowl. A team of six peeled the hundreds of carrots, making the table look like the aftermath of a snowman genocide. As with all Christmas dinners the evening quickly descended into a drunken affair with the ‘grey-haired’ members of the group saying things the rest wish they hadn’t. Inexplicably Sunday morning was taken at a very leisurely pace with many opting not to walk and those that braved the outdoors doing so with great trepidation.