This blog contains much skiing and urinating (From Watford Observer)

This blog contains much skiing and urinating

8:51pm Sunday 18th April 2010

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We set off at around 6 am. I had arisen from my state of unconsciousness 15 minutes previously and sleepily brushed my teeth, scraped my hair back, and draped myself in my blanket before climbing into the car fully donned in pyjamas. Here I fell asleep.

We were heading to Switzerland for two weeks of skiing. We own a chalet in the Alps and almost every trip there has been journeyed in the car. That’s a good 13-15 hours with Busted on repeat in my headphones and a numb backside. What could be better?

I decided I would test my bladder to the limit by only relieving it minutes before explosion. You see, I am not a fan of public toilets, in fact, I would rather spend the entire journey plucking my leg hairs than answer natures call in those germ-ridden parlours. Anyhow, I managed to go 9 hours without the need for a loo. By this point I was positively busting. Cue a mammoth dose of traffic and copious panic attacks. We were at a stand still and who knew when the next petrol station was coming up; if ever desperate measures were called for, it was now. We pulled over into the hard shoulder- to the dismay and beeping of our fellow vehicles- and I scrambled out of the car, down a hill, and behind a bush. It was traumatic to say the least. But once I was relieved of the aching pain in my lower stomach I became mildly hysterical and giggled my way back up the hill and into the car.

We arrived at the Chalet at 9:15 pm Switzerland time (8:15 English time), had dinner and went to bed.

At the beginning of the first week we were treated to a fresh dump of snow, a rarity for this time of year and much needed due to a number of bare patches dotted around the lower slopes.

The pistes were fairly empty, the lifts however slightly more busy. In the morning the snow was brilliant, it was powdery lower down and hard and crunchy with plenty of grip on the higher slopes. By the afternoon however the snow had begun to turn into slush and (thanks to our friends the snowboarders) was extremely cut up.

One time, I was sitting alone on a chair lift, minding my own business, possibly perving over the odd hot snowboarder when I saw a boy heading to the trees at the side of the piste. It looked as though he was about to do a bit of off-pisting, and as you only ever really see the tracks of off-pisters rather than the actually skier I thought I’d continue my staring. This was when I noticed the stream of urine. He’d only gone and got his wiggle out in the middle of the slope. This was also when I realised I had been staring at him for quite some time. I turned away, my cheeks no longer only rosy from the cold, and hoped no one had seen me.

On one of the days we went over to Arolla for a change of scene and a nice walk for mum (once we arrived, however, we discovered good walking paths were hard to find). I spent the time wrestling with a violent button lift which despite my best efforts managed to hit me round the head. We did not end on good terms.

Now, I must mention what a trial and tribulation the lack of internet has been for me. On previous visits we have always managed to steal internet connection from the chalets around us, but this time, as I discovered on the very first night (our priorities are extremely straight) we could not, when my brother exclaimed: “Sudfolk have got a password”. The cheek of it.

Anyhow, in Arolla we happened to eat lunch in a restaurant with WiFi. We paid our 5 Swiss Franks and were granted 38 minutes of online joyousness. I signed into Twitter, got a bit tweet-happy, and spoke to a few of my favourite tweeters and buddies. Finally I felt somewhat connected with the outside world. And the shakes subsided.

The ski-lifts are manned by bored people who are much better at putting a button lift between my legs than I am. There was one lift worker who took a particular liking to me, much to my dismay. You see, he was about 5 feet tall, and about 50 years old. I was just getting on the lift when a piercing growl was emitted from him, my very own sexual predator/paedophile. The next day I skied to the bottom of the run and he raised his arms as if hoping for an intimate embrace. I did not oblige. Then, as I was getting onto the lift he shoved my dad and brother out of the way just so as he could personally place the T-bar under my buttocks. I closed my eyes, pulled a grimace, and counted the seconds until the ordeal was over. I then vowed never to ski that run alone.

Overall, I ate a lot, slept a lot, read a lot, did a lot of exercise and we only faced one visit to the hospital (my younger brother sprained his thumb on the very first day. He also got out of washing up all holiday as a result. Pffft). A successful trip.

And now for some shameless advertising. You can find our chalet at www.chaletclaire.com Yes, it is named after me. And just when you thought I couldn’t get any cooler.

Book up now kids.

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