Friday, August 01, 2008
Darlings! Hello! Yes, we're just back from the ski slopes, and what a thrill it was. I was cruising down those black diamond runs like nobody's business, inbetween perfecting my aerial jumps and...
Oh heck, who am I kidding? Yes, we did go skiing, at the lovely Falls Creek, but I'm more of an invalid shuffler skiier than anything else. Seriously - I look like I should be holding a zimmer frame, rather than being perched precariously on skis. When I do actually move it's so timid and pathetic, especially when 5 year olds zoom past with condescening looks. And heaven help me if I come to a slight hill that requires me going down it. My legs don't make the pizza shape like they are supposed to, and I end up sprawling my way down in a flurry of arms, stocks, and ski rage. Very attractive!
As for the head skiier of the family, Galumph - well, he came down with a nasty cold as we were driving up to the ski fields, and spent most of his skiing break curled up in bed. The poor old thing felt so miserable that he didn't even have the energy to vocally lament that fact that he wasn't out in it, and trust me, the man loves to ski. Why else would he don those ridiculous glasses?
My highlight was trying to get some cross country skiing done in what is predominately a downhill resort. My friend and I shuffled our way to the ski bowl at the aptly named Windy Corner in what felt like a force 10 blizzard. The wind howled and the snow sandblasted the skin off our very faces, resulting in a bit of a lobster look for the next few days. At one stage we were being blown backwards by the wind, and only the action of digging our stocks in the snow kept up from being blown up in the air, Mary Poppins style. I tried to laugh, as the whole escapade was an absolute skiing farce, but the wind kept whipping the air out of my throat, I couldn't even see more than 2 feet in front of me and I was beginning to get drenched by my running nose.
If you wish to apply for the recently vacated position of Ski Bunny, please email me at jorth-can't-ski-for-shite.com. Sigh.