Pique'n Yer Interest

The worst days I ever had at work came while sitting in the driver's seat of an 18-wheeler. In my late teens and early 20s I spent my summers steering big rigs to help put myself through journalism school.

During last year's Whistler Writers Festival, a panel convened to discuss the perennially elusive topic of mountain culture vs. culture in the mountains.

I went to Quest University in Squamish last week at the invitation of Dr. Eric Gorham to speak to his Media and Politics class and answer questions about my experiences in journalism in Britain and Canada over the last (gulp) 28 years.

There's a very complex, scientific diagram stuck to the fridge of my family's cabin that clears up an age-old confusion.

Whistler does a lot of things well, but one area we apparently suck is in training and developing our own people to take over the top positions in town.

Officially and otherwise, it is fall. Everyone is burrowing. Everyone is infected. Leaves have long since heralded their inevitable departure. Ski movie premieres blossom on screens everywhere.

I've written the main feature in this week's Pique , something I love to do because when you crank out 2,000-plus words you can really explore a subject and be a little more creative with the writing.

A couple of weeks ago I found myself on the other side of a note pad.

My little girl is going to school for the first time next week, but don't expect me to cry about it.

My partner and I drove across the Great White North this summer. Whistler to Toronto, the long way around through Ottawa, some 5,500 kilometres.