My Wurst Skiing Holiday

A man is flying through the air, both Steves watch amazed as his fluorescent orange hat disappears below the edge of the piste into the trees, it is Nick, what is going through his mind in these potential last moments of his life? Is it Carol's throaty, "Kiss them!", is it Jane's groan as he undoes her pyjama trousers, is it THAT journey in the conference bus? No, it is, "Look at them rocks, and them trees! I wonder which one I'll hit? Will this hurt?" Then - impact! A thwack to the right knee followed by a blessed cessation of downward travel - a pause - the dawning realization that everything seems to be intact, apart from the tree trunk under his right knee, that, is broken in two, probably because it's not new, had it been new he suspects the position may have been reversed. Looking about he realises that he can slide back down onto the piste where it comes round the bend, he doffs his skis and promptly drops through the snow crust onto another log, the four inch spike of branch that now sits two fingers width from being a pine suppository adds a note of caution to his continued descent. "If I was a cat I think I'd be down to about five now!" he thinks.
It is March and Nick has ventured on his biannual skiing trip, this time he is back in Mayrhofen with almost the same people as last time, it is day two, and he has been accompanying Steve down the bypass route that cuts off a steep section of red. He has relaxed sufficiently to enjoy the sensation of skiing, and to occupy most of the track, this is a mistake as he has just gently crossed the toes of his skis, lost balance, leant back, and hurtled into the void. But let us move back in time......

And so it begins with the Shipping Forecast, an arcane litany of pressure, direction and precipitation. A prognostication for the week to come perhaps. Nick is lying snug under his duvet, soon he will have to rise, shower, dress and set off down the hill to the station, trailing his case - like Pooh. The only thing that will lighten his mood during this travail, is the knowledge that the unholy row of suitcase wheels on tarmac will wake everyone else - he will not be alone in his semi-somnambulism.

A brief wait at the station and he is off, forging through the countryside with a carriage half-full of grey-faced dozers. The train from London Bridge to Gatwick has pneumatic suspension, my carriage (of course) has leaking suspension so that every bounce is accompanied by a shriek, as if a parrot was being - umm - goosed.

At the airport I find Steve Clunes and Liz, Steve decides that he will pioneer breakfast and venture into uncharted territory, consequently he has picked a Sausage and Egg McMuffin, something he will be reminded of for the next eight hours - repeatedly, I bask in the glory that is my Pret Chicken and Avocado.

We fly, we meet Caroline at the airport, she is relegated to a different coach, the system is placed in jeopardy if anyone decamps onto a different coach going to the same place. I find that I am in Landhaus Neuhaus. "Landhaus" ...."Landhaus" rings a bell. I finish exploring my shoebox (a single room that incurs a single supplement), manage to finagle the door of the balcony open, and remember that "Landhaus" means farm. I remember specifically when, as I emerge on the balcony, a man emerges from the barn opposite with a wheelbarrow full of ordure, which he empties on the pile that composes my view. I listen, and let the miasma drift over me (the prospect of a sit on the balcony, composing this blog, evaporates), now let me see, I think the barn contains definitely pigs, but there may be some cows in there.

We eat, our waitress is Melinda from Hungary with whom Clunes goes into overdrive, sadly let down by the fact that he thinks that everyone who comes from Hungary, and who's name begins with "M" is called Marta. We drink and then head for our bed-in-a-box. As always, the room is overheated, normally I would open a window but this would invite in the farmyard. As I drift I'm taken back to my primordial egg in the incubator, as I struggle out of the duvet I realise that if someone had rolled a football past at that moment, I would be trotting behind it, calling it "Momma".

At 5.30 a.m. the pork chorus begins, interrupting my already interrupted sleep, and tipping me into the shower a mere ninety minutes later. As always we had agreed to meet for breakfast at time "X", as always I am alone. Still I get my own back by changing my boots over a period of half-an-hour. Eventually we assemble and head off to the slope, where, later we will meet Steve Two.
"Let's go over there." is suggested, and off we go, well at least I do, the others wilfully, WILFULLY, go the wrong way, and are rewarded with a walk, I however, fail in my attempt not to look superior. We return, I am knackered and after my shower, apply Ralgex in large quantities, I am red from the waist down! More eating, some sleeping.

At 5.30 a.m. the pork chorus begins, interrupting my already interrupted sleep and tipping me into the shower a mere 110 minutes later. Breakfast is a quiet and lonely affair, but, this being Austria I manage to eschew all caffeine, and any struggling in and out of salopettes for the first three hours of the day. Eventually we reach the ski room and the Smell of Skiing. The heady aroma that greets you when you enter the ski room. the sweaty and sometimes unwashed feet of Europe, later in the week this will be tempered with linaments - various.

Some Conversation:

C "I've lost all my fucking money!"

"How?"

C "Must've fallen out of my fucking pocket when I got the fucking camera out to take a fucking photo'!"

"Oh"

C "Fuck!"

"Mmm. Oh look here's Liz."

C "Hi Liz, I've lost all my fucking money!"

Chorus "Have you checked all your pockets?"

C "Of course I've checked all my fucking pockets!"

"Have you checked that one?"

C "YES!"

"That one?"

C "Which one? No. Oh! Steve how much do I owe you for that coffee?"

Clunes "Where's my camera!?"

"Have you checked your pockets?"

We found it in the lining mesh, which Clunes thought was a pocket.

Liz had meanwhile turned herself into an instructor and had declared that in order to get our weighting right that we should adopt the posture of a gorilla. My mind, as it will, immediately flicked to the fact that Guy the Gorilla (a main attraction at London Zoo) only had a penis one inch long. Looking down some of the slopes, so did I.

Eating, drinking.

At 5.30 a.m. the pork chorus begins, interrupting my already interrupted sleep and tipping me into the shower a mere 130 minutes later. Zell-am-Zimmer, what happens at Zell-am-Zimmer is this: You arrive and catch the bubble lift to the top, then you ski away from Zell as fast as you can to Gerlos, where you have a drink. Wise folk drink caffeine free, others drink Coke. Then you ski down to the queue from Hell and fight with other skiers. Ascend, at this point Coke drinkers announce that they need a pee so you descend back to the cafe you just left, followed by another bout in the queue from Hell, then you have to ski back to Zell but now, due to the queue from Hell, so does everyone else. Eating, drinking.

At 3.30 a.m. the pork chorus begins, interrupting my already interrupted sleep and tipping me into the shower a mere 130 min.... Wait a minute! At 3.30 a.m. a large truck turns up outside my window and the pigs start screaming. The 5.30 pork chorus is diminished in volume.
The rest of the day my diary sums up as, "A pile of shit!". We went to the glacier, it was very cold - in oh so many ways.

The next day, Clunes announces, "Oh, I'm skiing with my flies undone." Nick finds a place to pull over and suggests that he, Clunes, " Might like to make a few adjustments."
"Good idea Nick!"
He takes his helmet off and repositions his goggles, faffing to get the strap behind the strap retainer.
"Don't you want to do your flies up?"
"Oh!"
In the afternoon it was 21 degrees, not the best skiing temperature, the ascents by chairlift were all accompanied by the merry sound of streams in spate, by 3.00 clock the snow had turned to porridge, headily laced with kerosene from the snow cannons.

Friday we returned to Zell.

Saturday we returned home.