Skiing - The Irresponsible Holiday for Grown Ups

Skiing is a sport, yet it is also widely classed as a 'holiday'. A holiday, for people who love trying not to die in a remote location with little medical assistance for a whole week before hobbling back to work. Personally, I believe that skiing holidays are the product of years of Darwinian selection within the four walls of Thomas Cook. Years must have past since badminton holidays and curling holidays died out. Now only skiing and beach sitting holidays are left. I get restless on beaches, so off I went. Below be my summary of the joys of skiing.

Irresponsibility is my favourite activity

If you also like invalidating your own insurance, then you are in for a treat. Marred by the small print in our insurance booklet prohibiting us from the now legitimate Olympic sport of “planking”, we instead sought comfort in complimentary shots of the local spirit of choice... At lunch... Most days. Brits on tour and all that. It relaxes the muscles we were assured.  It also invalidated your insurance. Already congealed in deep heat, the only thing it really relaxed was my sense of rationality and aversion to personal injury.

Shiny Things to Spout on Social Networks

I did also manage to capture some great cover photo fodder and a few nice little videos, the following of which I am particularly proud and I believe has the potential to gain more views than even my sandwich unboxing video, maybe.

You like Party Games Too?

The week culminated in an impromptu game of charades in the local shop. After what I can only describe as 'rough handling' of my suitcase, leaving it as in tact as Lance Armstrong’s motivational speaking career. Off I toddled to the local shop to buy some tape and make sure the thing didn't explode spraying an unsuspecting baggage handler with sweaty thermal socks and the thick stench of deep heat.

The local vendor inevitably spoke no English (as is obviously his right as a Bulgarian living in a small mountain village). Luckily, my charades skills didn't let me down. First placing my palms together to indicate adhesion I was misinterpreted and presented with a notebook. Then by pulling them slowly apart like they were held with some imaginary glue, I was presented with – well, some real glue. Finally, by having an all out body spasm, weeping and acting out the third act of a Midsummer Night's Dream, our good friend reached for the duct tape! He then proceeded to charge me twice the price on the label – a price I feel that was probably justified as compensation for any warding off potential customers with my display of experimental interpretive dancing.

And that was my week skiing and eating roasted vegetables and pasta pudding for breakfast. Sound fun?

Image: Spins & Needles