Time and time again we’ve made the mistake of looking out the window at night and seeing legions of tourists staggering through town, alternately chucking snowballs at or being sick on each other. “Wait ’til tomorrow morning” we’ll say, “we’ll be the only ones there for first lifts at this rate.”
I’ve learned now, but the shock of seeing the same shit jester hats and gaper gaps from the night before ahead of you in the lift queue took a while to wear off. How can these people spend a whole day falling over on ice and knocking themselves in the head with their own skis, then go and get hammertron until 5 am and still be ready to do it all over again, for the next five days?
“How can these people spend a whole day falling over on ice and knocking themselves in the head with their own skis, then go and get hammertron until 5 am and still be ready to do it all over again?”
In fact, I’m only here this cold and damp morning because I’ve got some mates from The City staying for a few days. Suffice to say, you can sling me in with the aforementioned category: fug-headed with the taste of the local grain alcohol concoction, and definitely not as stoked to be alive at this hour as they are.
Maybe the reality of working in London/Paris/Munich/Dystopia really is so bleak that a constant cocktail of bruised arse and alcohol poisoning whilst wearing an animal onesie and jeans in -10C weather really is preferable to even thinking about going back to the office on Monday? Or maybe it’s only the nutters that make it out to resort in the first place.
Well no, that can’t be right, because there’s also a family of five in front of me. I looked after a child for 45 minutes last year – it screamed for exactly 44 of them and only stopped when it heard its mum’s car pull back into the drive. How you can stand being around three of them plus their-mother-that-hates-you-for-inflicting-this-on-the-family-every-year for even a quiet evening in the chalet, let alone dragging them all out of bed and into boots for a spot of good ol’ queuing at 8.30 is beyond me.