Skiing. Or not.

Well, all I can say is, "Thank god I didn't bring my camera". I was right to think it might get damaged. And I didn't need any photographic evidence of my incompatibility with skis and snow.

My first attempt at skiing on real snow (having once had a bit of a go on a 'dry slope' in Gloucester) went predictably badly, but ended up better than I'd expected, I suppose. I did spend about 50% of my time on my bottom, but at least I learnt how to ski across the slope, if not actually down it. Which, I know, isn't quite the idea, but then I didn't get to practise on a beginner's slope - I had the 'sink or swim' school of training methods. Otherwise known as the Czech, 'muddle through and hope for the best' method. They clearly believe there's no point in having an actual lesson or training area to learn in, especially as this is for something which is unlikely to lead to earning you a living. Goodness knows, they barely believe in having a good, well-paid teacher for learning something as useful and business-applicable as English, let alone something as 'natural' as skiing. 

The cowboy was as sympathetic as ever, of course, shouting at me to "listen!" to his instructions in Czech using vocab I'd never had to know before, and telling me off for not doing what he'd told me to. Things like not looking at other people and just going ahead and focussing on where I want to end up. Which resulted in my narrowly escaping a collision with a snowboarder, when I actually followed his advice. He also helpfully instructed me to watch the 3 and 4 year olds zooming down the slopes and copy them. As though just watching what a four year old does and copying it were perfectly manageable. To be honest, I had envisioned this. The cowboy, for all his other skills, isn't the best teacher. He hasn't quite learnt to do the 'being patient and kind' thing. And I happen to consider that part kind of vital in a teacher of any kind. 

Thank god for my new, warm skiing trousers and my amusing recollections of 'Ab Fab's 'The Last Shout'. "Snowplough, snowplough, I must. Snow. Plough", says Edina, struggling alone on a slope. I couldn't help but laugh at the thought that I was closer to Patsy in my attempts at skiing, and could easily have ended up 'going round again' on the skilift and asking, "now, Eddie, now?" until midnight like she did. (Instead, as 'the ground came up' at the end of the ski lift, I was thrust forward at considerable speed and felt that the only way to prevent myself careering into a nice family gathering at the top of the slope sitting on deck chairs (no, seriously) was to aim for the ground and hope I would stop quickly rather than continue to travel forward but on my bottom instead.) Thankfully, skis create drag very easily when at right angles to the ground.

Pity I didn't have a bottle of champagne to soothe my ailments, like Patsy in the Last Shout. That might've been more fun. Instead, I followed instructions, learnt how to turn around, first by purposely sitting on the snow and in a most undignified manner, raising my skis up one by one and turning them in the other direction and then slowly working my way up again. Secondly by learning how to use the sticks (poles?What are they called in English? I only ever learnt they were 'hole' in Czech) to push against almost directly behind me, as I shuffled my skis up and around to face in the opposite direction. Carefully avoiding sliding backwards. But these are two ways to turn around, neither of which are used by anyone with a modicum of skiing skill. But nevermind. 

I did learn to ski across the slope and then step down the hill for a while sideways to make up for the fact that going across hadn't got me more than a few centimetres closer to the bottom of the slope, which the cowboy found infuriating, but whenever I actually tried to ski even remotely in a descending fashion, I ended up speeding up beyond my control and the only way to stop was to desperately try to turn back upwards, which invariably meant I ended up on my arse again within seconds. But I did make it down the hill by the end of the day. I let the cowboy go down the hill and take a couple of turns going back up and skiing down again, in other words descending a slope that had taken me all day to get to the bottom of safely. Heigh-ho, we can't all be great skiers y'know. Some of us come from places where this skill is far from interesting, let alone useful.

Thanks to Ab Fab, I still haven't got the humming of Marianne Faithfull and the bassline that leads into the chorus, "we gotta get outta this place if it's the last thing we ever do. We gotta get outta this place. Love has a better life for me and you..." out of my head yet. But I don't suppose that's vitally necessary at this juncture. Indeed, it could be deemed rather appropriate.