Winter and...Fall

The Farmhouse may be a half-decent representation of paradise (see here), but when it comes to winter, it misses out on one basic ingredient. 

Snow.

This winter we had one sprinkling and that was it. 

Rubbish.

To compensate for this gross travesty, we usually up and leg it to the Pyrénées for a couple of months. It is true that even there the snow is somewhat unreliable, but this year it was perfect. The conditions amazing, the snow generously applied throughout. What could go wrong?

On the first day of skiing every year I forget something. Last year I took the wrong boots, the year before I forgot the rum! Never again. This year I took the wrong bloody skis. Much shorter than my usual ones. Result? I skied better than ever. Then I had my poles nicked. Result? I skied better than ever. If things continue like this, I’m gonna try using a cricket bat to play snooker.

Well, I can see you thinking that, as far as bad things go, this does not rate too lowly. There we were, best snow ever. Best skiing ever. 

Then we met Mike

In retrospect, maybe stopping at the bar was not a good idea...

Annick and I were up in the Pyrénées, in our ‘hovel in the hills’, for a romantic weekend, just the two of us. 

It started well. We really had hit a high spot in skiing. Everything seemed possible. 

Everything wasn’t possible.

It was on day two that we hooked up with ‘Mike the Speed King’. We went down slopes that we had never before attempted. Achieved speeds previously implausible. You may possibly have spotted the error of our ways by now...

It was a vertical wall what did it. A black run mistakenly marked red (according to Annick). Mike flew over edge and down the precipice. I flew(ish) over the edge and down the precipice. Annick flew over the edge, saw where she was, (insert cartoon of the Roadrunner here) and fell. 

Badly.

Her knee twisted. Her leg was broken. 

We had to get her down. This involved getting the rescue guys out. They found the wrong woman. 

“This is not the right woman” I cried. 

“How many women have you got?” They responded. 

“Only the three.”

Well, our romantic weekend suddenly became less romantic as jokes about ‘not getting her leg over’ became commonplace. 

<sigh>

Despite this dampener on proceedings, we did continue to have our usual gamut of guests. Luke came over 

along with his ever lovely elvish sidekick, Marta.

But fate is all. 

On the first day of skiing Marta fell on her - you guessed it - knee. This left just Luke and myself in peak physical condition. 

Marta was not happy.

Lisa also came over, along with a giant hoard of friends and offspring. We decided not to tempt Lady Fate and stayed at the farmhouse to play.

Along with the Parisien bunch (Domitille et al) I also had two visitors from my dim and distant past. First Geoff, an old schoolmate and regular visitor, and then Duffy, one of my mates from university. I hadn’t seen him for 42 years! Those years just up and melted away.

Well, as broken knees and fractured egos heal, we look forward to all the ups and downs that Spring will bring.

I’ll leave the farewells to Geoff.

Cheers!