Today the family embarks on an epic adventure.
While we are exciting people (in my opinion) we tend to follow the sun and are fond of the heat and the water.
Over dinner with friends a few months ago, the wine clearly got the better of me and the next morning I woke up hungover and booked on a trip to Queenstown to ski. Snow say what??????
The only thing I fear more than being hungry, is being cold. To this day my friend Tanya asks whether I’m still carrying my “security” chocolate in my handbag.
Now I should also point out that I’ve never skied before. The first and last time I saw snow was when the weather had a hissy fit one Spring day in September 30 odd years ago in Johannesburg. Oh the excitement over 5cm of snow!
Going back to the topic at hand, I am always happy to tell anyone that asks about my skiing ability that “my people” ski on water. Not exactly sure who “my people” are aside from me – but it sounds good to have people. Like my people will talk to your people. If I had people.
Now, heading to the snow has caused someone other than my husband to be yelling at me. My friend Howard – who is the head honcho of this trip – has crapped me out for ordering our taxi too early, for being concerned that my ski pants and ski jacket don’t match and that I will look like someone from the Free State (this one’s for you my Saffers) and has warned me not to even think of unpacking suitcases at the stopover. Because we’re leaving early in the morning apparently. Howard is going to be late for his own funeral one day. Early my arse.
From the last paragraph you have also now picked up that in addition to my fear of cold and hunger I also have a pathological fear of missing a flight and need to be at the airport 3 hours before an international flight. Last but not least, I cannot, repeat, cannot be badly dressed. I can guarantee you that if I don’t manage to fanagle an outfit for myself on the other side – then I will in fact be badly dressed and will not, repeat, will not post photos as I will be attired in my friend Danny’s fine khaki ski pants along with a blue ski jacket from the aforementioned Howard. And no – they don’t match. Not at all. [If Danny is wondering why I’m not wearing the matching ski jacket he provided it’s because the general consensus was that it was two sizes too big for me – clearly my bum is not in proportion to my upper body].
So – we haven’t even got to the part yet where I realised that regardless of any fear – what goes up, must come down. And I am sure that based on all those Peter Stuyvesant ads I watched as a kid in the movies (its a miracle I haven’t got lung cancer by association) I should be just fine. After all – I have the hair – if not the outfit. And if you hear someone screaming like a banshee – it’s probably me crawling down a bunny slope. How high up is it by the way?
In conclusion I intend to come back with all my faculties in tact – my friend Michael has forewarned me not to sign up for lessons with the young good-looking ski instructor but to rather look for a more mature Austrian type called Sven or Hans. Apparently Sven and Hans won’t be “hoons” and will keep me safe.
I’m ending on a positive and completely unrelated note. For those of you doing Dry July – very well done. I intend to participate when I’m dead. (If you happen to already have received this message when you got my out of office reply apologies for the duplication and bloody well done again). See you on the other side of next week and much love xxx