Why can't every day be a holiday?

I had a some great times away on holidays recently. The first was at New Year in Rhayader with the usual suspects getting absolutely soaked and vowing never to let anyone else plan a walk ever again. It was good to get outside away from these pesky machines.

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As if that wasn’t enough, I went away to France to the slightly more exciting Alps for a skiing holiday for a week too. This was with Viv’s medic mates and spouses and future spouses. We were enrolled into a french ski school for the entire week, going from being complete liabilities to competent skiers on the funny bits of wood.

Viv and I were both enrolled at a slightly faster pace originally, but after my frustration of being at the back of the class for an entire lesson, playing constant catch up, thorough humiliation and Viv’s tiredness (she says) we decided to drop down with the majority of the rest of our group to the complete beginners group. I’d rather go and enjoy the experience at a comfortable pace than annoy everyone by being angry. Anyway, its not like I’m not a beginner.

By the last day, we were comfortable with getting chair and button lifts here there and everywhere and getting down the majority of the mountain without any further coaching, albeit on the beginner runs. I have a single scratch and bruise from the whole week, which is much better than some of the casualities I saw being loaded onto the aeroplane in Chambery. At some points however, I was extemely glad I knew I had travel insurance for my time there, like a straight run heading to a lowered car park with no feasible means of being able to stop (it somehow happened though), or realising what I seemed to be heading at some speed over had turned into jumps.

Stay tuned for the very exciting photos.

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