If Roger Moore Can Ski, Why Can’t I?

I AM ALIVE!!

I got back from my debut skiing holiday, last night. in one piece!  Posh is not the word for Verbier; it is unbelievably posh- so, posh is probably the right word, actually.  Shut up! I have been away for a week and I can’t remember how to write.  Never really knew how to in the first place.  Anyway, I can now add skiing to my list of elitist sports along with once being a member of a golf club.    Add to that, the fact that I am from Norfolk, which means that my ancestors were undoubtedly incestuous and that makes me think that my social status is changing, and I am entering the upper classes!  What do you reckon?

So how did the skiing go?  Well, I had my day’s lesson in the Snowdome, where I learned how to travel very slowly down a very small hill, and then it was off to Verbier, one of the most difficult ski resorts in the world.  My Mrs, Peelo, is a really good skier, but, unfortunately, has no comprehension of what it is like to start skiing (yeah, she’s posh and has been skiing since she was ten).  So there I am going up the Medran lift standing in the cable car, going up vertically over craggy rocks, straight to hell, and yeah, I am a little nervous.  Several minutes later, we are at the top, and we have to get in another cable car, because we haven’t gone high enough yet!  WTF!? Not high enough?

Up we go again, and to the top of a blue run, which looks like a vertical drop to me, and it is time to begin.  I point my skis down to the bottom, and I go.  I didn’t understand the concept of skiing.  I thought I’d just slow down when the hill got a bit shallower. 

I fly down, grin on my face, enjoying the wind whistling through my hair.  A shout of “TURN!  TURN! TURN!” came from behind me, and I realise that I didn’t really know how to turn, especially when travelling at high velocity.  So I didn’t.  I crashed, tumbled and slid for twenty metres, skis and poles flying.

“Are you alright?”

“…Yeah.”

“What were you doing?”

“Skiing.”

“Why didn’t you turn?”

“Don’t know how.”

I took things a little bit slowly, from there on in.   Although I went down the hardest red in the resort to get to a pub, on my first morning, and then accidentally went down a black run, in the afternoon.  I weren’t a happy bunny.

I always knew I was dicing with death when I tried on my skiing trousers, just before the holiday, and they did not give me the flexibility that I required.  It was too late to take them back, so I thought I’d go for it.  Day three: Last corner, massive spill. I was filled with pain and my ears were filled with the sound of ripping cloth as I slid down the mountain in the splits position. My trousers had ripped from my ass to my old fella.

I still had three days left, so i decided to stitch them up and add some ducktape to seal the deal. That morning, in the lesson, my instructor gets us to go a little faster, and I gladly oblige. It starts to worry me when my manbits start getting a little chilly, and children start crying and skiing off cliffs to get away from me. Yes, they had split again. I didn’t even try to hide the rip, after that. I finished skiing over 48 hours ago, and it still hasn’t warmed up.

Then, whilst chilling, literally, in a pub, I sat at the bar taking out the cotton with my thumb and forefinger. I wondered why I was getting some truly disgusting looks from the other patrons( poshness levels were through the roof, by the way) and then I realised that my rhythmical tugging of cotton from my crotch would have looked like a vile act, to all onlookers.

But then I started to get the hang of the skiing.  I honestly hated skiing at first, as I couldn’t really do the stuff they were trying to get me to do in Ski-School.   I quit the school, and just tried to get down, my way.  I look awful, but by the end, I could ski all the way down the hardest red in the resort, with only one big spill.  I enjoyed the holiday, but it is really expensive, and probably averaged at £5 a pint.  I don’t think I have reached the upper classes.  Some of the other skiers’ accents didn’t sound real.  Another weird thing was that I only saw two people who weren’t white, in the entire resort!

Fifteen people have died in Verbier, this season.  Most of them, however, were responsible for their own deaths.  Two walkers were caught in an avalanche when there were avalanche warnings.  They were thrown down the mountain, and to the bottom of a lake.  Another paraglider did not service his equipment, and his parachute broke and he fell onto a pylon wire, where he was split into two.  However, Switzerland has 500 accidents that involve head injuries from skiing or boarding, every day.  Probably worth wearing a helmet, in future.

If you get the chance to give skiing a go, do it.  There are so many amazing views and it’s really rewarding every time you feel you are making any improvements. The nightlife was really good, not that I made it out very often due to being knackered, most of the time.  Plus, if you don’t like skiing, you can just go to the top of the mountain, grab a deckchair, enjoy a scandalously priced beer, and soak up the sun.  It’s amazing how hot it is, 3000m up, if you haven’t split your pants. 

If Roger Moore can ski, why can’t I?

Because Roger is the man.

Ciao, darlings!