Week 8 was probably my least favourite week of the season and without getting too wingey and whiney I want to tell you how we made it through.
Gabs and I were at breaking point with the job and we figured our only options were to sneak off in the dead of night or kill ourselves. Claire started next door at the beginning of the week and we tried our hardest not to let on how much we were struggling so that we didn’t ruin her time in Andorra too. But it didn’t take long for all the truths to spill out and all three of us got stuck in this rut.
Although Gabs and I spent probably one of the best days we would ever have on the mountain, coming along in leaps and bounds with skiing and snowboarding, it was instantly forgotten as we schlepped back to the kitchen to serve afternoon tea to another bunch of bellends.
By Friday night we were looking for ways to pick ourselves up which we hadn’t already tried. We found solace in the upper class clutches of the Hermitage. As much as I want to say it went a long way to making us feel better, I think it may have ruined us for the rest of the season.
*Drum roll please*
Enter the Espresso Martini. Not to be confused with the Expresso Martini… because Expressos DON’T BLOODY EXIST.
After just one sip of the 14 euro, rocket fuel cocktail I think the words, “Dude, is it possible to hang from the chandelier by my bra,” were uttered.
And, despite the price of one cocktail averaging my daily wage, I had another. Because… Fuck the police.
Now on this evening we had a fabulous time making a scene and receiving tuts from foreign suits, but with the discovery of the Espresso Martini came the natural desire to have it again, and again… and again. Whenever Gabs and I began to flake in the kitchen… the Espresso Martini was never far away. Pulverising our sanity and playing havoc with our intestines.
Ski/Boarding Incident of the Week: I got run over. By a 6ft guy learning to snowboard. I had the unfortunate luck of being stuck behind him and when trying to overtake I caught an edge and hit the deck just three metres further down the mountain than he was.
The next few seconds passed in slow motion. I can only imagine the fear on our faces would have made the most incredible action shot but at the time I was concerned for my future of snowboarding. I just kept thinking… if this guy breaks my neck I’m dead… or worse, I’m going home.
As his board became well acquainted with my spine at the average speed of about 100mph, his arse came in to full contact with my face and he rolled straight over the top of me. Apologies were exchanged and he went on his way. I returned home to nurse the blueish-greenish mass that was slowly creeping across my back.
I’m really trying not to overdo this post. I don’t want to fill my blog with how much I was missing home. SO… I’m cracking on with Week 9 instead.