It only happens down hill

Skiing they offered, yes I said, off to Auron they said, lead the way I said, so there we are – Patrick, who stopped drinking and self medicating for 12 hours so that he could take charge of our transportation, because you should not be operating heavy machinery, we know this even though his medicine pack doesn’t come with a National health warning. In the back seat trying to get an extra hours sleep after an exhausting evening with a particularly healthy specimen of a young man the one and only Mel babe in uber-glam gear – we deliver ourselves into the milky cold fields of the French ski slopes and proceed to have a fabulous time.

Thinking I’ve finally mastered the trick of staying upright while plummeting down a mountain with only a couple of icy pole sticks and some very swish new ski gear (de-riguer for this pseudo-Royal) when for reasons beyond my 5th grade physics I came to a grinding stand still, planted in said white snow (and its never as soft as it looks), thinking this was one spectacular landing I commenced to pull myself together, while concerned fellow skiers brought the paraphenalia I’d strewn across the field to one sorry for her self Duchess. At this stage it seemed important that I should remove right hand glove to inspect damaged manicure, when I find one’s thumb in a most distasteful position, I chose to bury it immediately in the snow – do not need to look upon such brutality – having first noticed that the French polish wasn’t chipped.

Medic was called, he insisted on inspecting the damaged goods, which was now buried under 30cm of snow….I really, really didn’t want to see my mangled digit….he insisted, so while he excavated for the now preserved member a little pray for mercy was answered in the form of a second medic of desirable stature and extremely pleasant features to distract me from the unpleasantness of my condition, thank-you snow goddess, three hail margaritas were quietly said in reverence as snow Adonis proceeded to strap me into sled (unfortunately without him, although this request seemed reasonable to me and I’m sure I saw a glimmer of amusement and possibility, both of which I’m partial to).
Having been delivered to medical centre, I made promise to Adonis I’ll return to throw myself down his slope as soon as all my parts are in working order again.

Once more offending digit had to be excavated from portable snow, do I have to say it: I really, really did not want to set eyes on this sight until all was pretty again, so yes I carried 5 kilos of ice with me, Doc removed my hand for inspection while I distracted myself – focusing on something shiny usually helps, however, his medical utensils only intensified the stress, so Mel babe stood to one side with her Hollywood smile (as good as any mirror ball), bless my considerate friends. Well the old joke of ‘pull my finger’ wasn’t quite so funny when relocating of a thumb is involved, especially ones own.

For the trip home Doc provided some excellent pain relief (although he didn’t see the funny side of my asking whether I could borrow a straw – I thought I may have been given a choice of medications, after all I’ve got private medical cover) and thus Patrick’s manic adrenaline induced driving seemed like a Sunday ride through the country, Mel babe seated in the rear took one look, squeeled and refused another look out the front windscreen - in all fairness we were deposited home without incident or further damage to anyone’s person….shower; champagne and bed – good night.