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.

Snow, rock gods and smoke

Dear Reader,

It's snowing again. After a bout of mild weather, I felt the temperature drop as I came out of a gig on Thursday. I had gone to see the producer friend of mine's rock band play, as I'd never had a chance to see them before. It was at the Prague Rock Cafe, which happens to be just under Cafe Louvre, but in the basement instead. So it was easy to get to and, surprisingly resembled any rock venue in London with the whole dingy, drab atmosphere and furnishings, cheap but awful drinks and very loud music. However, there is one difference with London now that I had forgotten about: the smoke. Ironically, the place occasionally referred to as the 'big smoke' doesn't actually have much smoke, at least not in its restaurants and bars, anymore. And I have to say, I miss that smoking ban here in Prague. 

It's kind of annoying to have got ready to go out (usually involving washing my hair) and put on some nice 'going out' clothes, only to know that I will come back with every part reeking of smoke when I return so that the clothes will have to go straight into the washing basket and my hair will need washing again in the morning. It's almost a disincentive to go out in the first place. The other irony, was that the lead singer/producer guy had given up smoking for the new year and was really kind of cranky (though he did say so himself) as a result. It didn't help that (possibly) his lack of Czech didn't endear him to the sound engineer and they had several problems with low, rumbling or screechy feedback during the gig. Still, it was good to experience the kind of music they do. It was a typically West Coast kind of road trip rock most of the time, with some grunge elements thrown in and a performance from the female keyboardist that was reminiscent of San Francisco-like hippie sensibilities. Quite a mixture all in all, rounded off with a strange version of 'Sweet Home Alabama' changed rather unimaginatively, and not exactly poetically, to 'Sweet Home Czech Republic'.

The name of the country itself causes huge problems. Saying, "the Czech Republic" all the time becomes quite tedious, and the Czechs themselves have solved this problem by referring to it as ,Česko', as in the first part of the name of the country as was in the past when they were still one country with Slovakia, i.e. ,Československo'. But it just doesn't seem to have caught on into an English version.

Anyway dear reader, in the meantime, I'm busy today writing meaningless romance advice articles (yes, they're paying me for it!) and battling with various health issues too tedious to go into detail over and hoping that it won't be snowing quite so much tomorrow when I have to leave the house at 7.15am. The pathways here are better in snow than in ice though, so maybe it won't be too bad even if it is still snowing....

May the rock gods be with you,

Ms. Plaform Edge.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas..and other thoughts on the passage of time...

The snow has arrived in earnest today. (Compare the other morning-

to this morning) -

It's just as well I found my snowboots from the cupboard in the cowboy's flat this morning. I can't believe I still don't have enough money saved up to move out anytime soon. What with the cost of now paying social security and health insurance, the ongoing battle with the internet company who still want to charge me for the internet in my flat that I no longer live in and the cost of not only buying Christmas presents but the postage to send stuff to the US and UK (the postage is almost always at least as much as the presents were, if not more) I am no where near having three months' rent saved up. I'm close to having one month, but that's one month's rent according to what the rent in an equivalent place would be now. Which is about 2,000Kč more, at least.

I have to factor in that from now on I may as well add a further 3,000Kč as rent as well, because that's roughly the cost of the health insurance and social security payments, so the outlook isn't good for being able to move out. And at the same time, I know I need to move out, to do the cowboy the courtesy of having his flat back to have other women come to at some point because if he really wants to have children, he's going to need to start looking around for a new girlfriend. And this country is really cruel when it comes to ageism. Once you've hit 40, people seem to assume that's your life pretty much sewn up. If you're a parent by then, then that's all your life will entail until retirement. And by the time you're 60, well, forget having any purpose to your life. You may as well lie in the grave and wait for death.

I must admit I'm getting really tired of this attitude and I feel really sorry for those who truly feel bound by it. I'm grateful that my interpretation of getting older has a bit more fun involved.  This was/is my plan anyway, sod what the Czechs think (or anyone else for that matter):

List of things to do in each decade of my life (skipping the childhood bits, which are mostly awful because someone else's always making decisions for you):

20s - Find out all the shitty things that happen in life like not getting the career you want, nor a suitable partner, and get over them quickly because you're still young.

30s - Go through ill-advised mini-midlife crisis and then realise you've got plenty of time to screw up loads more stuff than just career and relationships so you may as well give up on those and get on with learning new stuff. Become dynamically "you" in a stronger, more self-assured way than ever before. Play gigs with a wild disregard for industry 'standards' and just wear what you want and sing whichever songs take your fancy and write cryptic things on social media sites in an 'anti-popularity contest' approach to music marketing. Don't have children because there are about 1,560 reasons why not to and you'll thank yourself when you reach 45 and don't have to live with a teenager as a result. Enjoy the fun of being able to travel and have time to write and read books anyway.

40s - Show everyone what a sexy, hip and happening woman you can be in your 40s when you have the advantage of not having children to deal with and start buying vastly expensive dresses and make up because now's not the time to go for cheap products or materials anymore. But as Simone de Beauvoir put it, there's no need to stop dying your hair blonde, wearing a bikini or flirting with deserving men.

50s - Time to show the world what it really means to be 'une femme d'un certain âge' and write a novel or memoir full of deeply moving insight and wisdom and, of course, acerbic wit. And have a hedonistically blissful love affair in between writing your books and playing your grand piano that your lover donated you. Wear incredibly sexy knee-length black boots and red lipstick all the time. Even when you're shopping in M&S. Infact, especially when you're shopping in M&S.

60s - Write vehemently about politics in opinion columns in newspapers and with the kind of venom that divides people instantly and don't give a shit about it because you've hit the wise old age of 60 and you will NOT apologise to anyone. Go on 'Newsnight' and 'Any Questions?' as a well-known pundit who can be relied upon to be entertaining just because you're so appallingly outspoken and it makes for great TV.

70s - Show how fit and flexible you still are because you never stopped doing aerobics and pilates and amaze people with your freakish strength and youthful demeanour. Pinch men's bottoms in department stores just to show'em who's boss and enjoy being totally irreverent.

80s - Maybe snuggle up now and then with a blanket on your knees as well as a few thick jumpers on, because you're allowed to get a bit cold at this age. Still write achingly moving and pertinent prose though and develop a hot toddy routine involving brandy or rum. Forget to get the piano tuned now and then because you haven't noticed how off-pitch it is, due to diminished hearing ability. Oops.

90s - Write poetry just to piss off a few more people while you still can. Then curl up with a cat and snooze every lunchtime. And be grateful for every day that you wake up and find out you're still alive. It's another day in which to wander about in eccentric clothes and annoy people by pretending to be deaf. Or maybe you actually are deaf. You can't remember.

The end. 

(I think.)

(Not as bad as) A Cow's Life

So winter has come early here in the Czech Republic and I feel weighed down just like this little bluebell-ish flower.  

(Is it one of those Spanish ones that have overtaken the English ones? I'm not very good at botany. As you may have guessed.)

The clever rescue plan of moving in with the Cowboy got me out of my flat and avoiding life on the streets or randomly on someone's sofa (actually I don't know anyone grown up enough here to have an actual sofa...)just in time to avoid financially overstretching myself into bankruptcy, but it has left me in a flat so inaccessible and so undesirable that no meet-ees really want to come here. Thus my income has remained so low I can barely save anything and now I feel utterly doomed to having to spend Christmas here. And I really didn't want that at all. But I'm rather used to being backed into corners forcing me to choose what I don't want. It's horribly familiar now.

Enough. I mustn't feel sorry for myself. This weekend I got to see beautiful countryside covered in snow. 

And by this morning there had been this much (see the level on the balcony ledge)!

And I must be grateful that I am not stuck sleeping out in the cold.  Unlike this cow.  

Chudák!

Day in the life

(Feb 6th)

16.30  Seeing off meet-ee.  Miserable meeting.  Both of us were tired.  

16.40 Grab my things to get on down to the post office to pick up a parcel that had been waiting for me for ages as well as do some supermarket shopping on the way back.

17.30 Long wait at post office.  Woman behind counter says something I don't understand and I feel huge wave of shame at still not speaking the language of the country I now call home.  Despite huge efforts and financial investment, I'm still on the 'basic language only, don't give me anything trade-specific now!' level.

18.00 Walking into Tesco.  So glad to get out of the cold that was biting into my face and chilling my nose to so close to freezing that I expected an icicle to come out the next time I blew my nose.

18.15 No bin liners in Tesco for the sixth visit running.  How am I supposed to clear-out anything in my flat?!  They've finally got Earl Grey tea though.  Bonus.

18.25 Popped into Paul's bakery.  Current level of misery dictates I MUST have a chocolate-coffee combo dessert thing.  Stand in line, reading the damned thing in Czech, trying to work out how to say it: 'Čokoladový-Kavovaný rolada'.  Or something.  Waitress/Shop assistant scuppers my plan of standing and reading it off the label by asking me to walk over to the other till.  Manage to get the thing out in understandable pronunciation and from memory.  Congratulate myself for this.  In Czech.  (So can't be that f***ing useless at it afterall, eh?)

18.45 Home and things in fridge/cupboard.  Make tea.  Urgently.

18.55 Sit down to tea and dessert thing.

18.56 Remember that package from ex-partner and his new partner I picked up from post office.  Feel sick at thought of 'joint' birthday present.  Immediately inwardly reprimand myself for being so childish.  The mature thing to do is be grateful for something from two lovely people.  

19.00 Presents opened.  DVD of a Czech band I don't really like that much because I can't understand their lyrics.  Strange bird-like pottery thing.  Wing broken off.  Don't know what to do with this.  Book with weird but nice illustrations.  Search for any extra note slipped in that hasn't been seen by ex-partner's new partner.  Remember that she's too clever to get that kind of thing by her and he wouldn't want to do that kind of thing anymore anyway.  Or at least, not enough to go out of his way to do it.  Card is a watered-down version of the cards he used to send.  None of the usual words.  Nothing in English infact.  His stars are drawn without the little appendages that made them unique and pertinent to me.  I know what's missing.  He knew what was missing.  She probably didn't.  It just looks wrong.

19.05 Cry uncontrollably.  Try to put the things away somewhere I won't see them for a while.

19.15 Listen to latest obsession song.  "We Found Love".  (Rihanna)  Video of which is hedonistically depressing-and-euphoric all in one.  With a few anomalies for someone supposed to be living in a British council estate thrown in.  (Sanex bubble bath for one thing.)  

19.23  Decide to watch an episode of CSI NY while eating dessert thing with another cup of tea.  Dessert thing bit of a disappointment, due to consistency of chocolate mousse element.  It's too rich.

20.00 Have given up on CSI NY as can't concentrate.  Crying again.  Reach out for more dance tunes and rock/hip-hop tunes to blast in my ears in an attempt to get the sadness out.  It doesn't work, but it helps to feel like there's something to hold on to.  Decide to make a new playlist on iTunes.  Imagine driving along at speed to the tracks I add in, by way of distracting myself from my currently hopeless seeming reality.

21.30 Decide that if I'm to get up early tomorrow, I'd better get ready for bed now, as period pain, painkillers and crying have all made me feel extra tired already.

21.35 Try calling current boyfriend, but no answer.  Email him instead, saying how low I feel.

22.35 Finished watching CSI NY episode.  Hasn't made me feel better but I'm ready for sleep.

22.36 Boyfriend calls.  I'm too sad and too sleepy to answer but the ring is so loud, it's waking me up.  Decide to make new hot water bottle and then go to bed.

22.45 Check email to see if 'the boy' has written an email instead, seeing as he couldn't get through on phone.  He has.  He says he's sorry I'm feeling low.  Feel tiny bit better.

22.57 Finally attempt sleep.  But can't.  Toss and turn for a while.  

23.20 Get up to go to the loo.  This has to be the most pathetic attempt at getting an early night.

(Feb 7th)

05.00 Alarm goes off.  Yes, I did decide that having an extra half an hour to try to wake myself up would be better today.

05.09 Get up. Switch off alarm before it goes off again.

05.10 Fill kettle for tea, but decide I'm going straight to coffee this morning.  Turn on heating in bathroom so that it'll be bearable to have a shower in there later.

05.20 Sit up in bed and check emails.

05.50 Get in shower.

06.20 Getting ready to go, putting on make-up feeling like no amount will hide the tiredness.  It's a lost cause.

06.32 Leaving house.  Stupid hallway light switch provides illumination for whole 5 seconds before going out again, leaving me to have to feel around for how many more steps are left till the next light switch.  Repeat process at every half flight of stairs. 

06.34 Notice snow on ground as I get to courtyard.  Dammit, now I really am going to be late this morning, because it's going to be a nightmare walking downhill on Václavské náměstí.  Nothing I can do about that now.

06.45 Offload bag of paper and cardboard into recycling bank before continuing on to Václavské náměstí.  (Don't know why I chose this morning to finally catch up on that task, but oh well.)

06.55 Walking at barely one mile an hour, like an old lady, because every step is slippery and I'm convinced I'm going to fall over and look like an idiot.  

06.56 Realise I already look like an idiot for walking as slowly as this.

07.05 Already late for meeting, receptionist won't let me through without checking my name off on a list.  (Wish he would make my day by saying, "if yer name's not down, yer not comin' in", but of course he doesn't.)  I take a look at list, knowing my meet-ee won't have put my name on it.  As I read through, I realise it looks like the list hasn't been used since 1993 anyway, probably the last time they had a security upgrade involving actually asking visitors' names instead of just buzzing them through.  I relay that my name's not on the list and am asked for ID.  Show receptionist my passport, which he takes in hand as though it's a most tedious and cumbersome piece of documentation, but seems to be enjoying pointing out to whoever might be watching his attempts to 'beef up security' that this is how long it takes and - see! - he's doing it right!

07.07 Finally let through.  Already feel jet-lagged.

07.10 Start meeting

07.40 'Can I go yet?' starts to repeatedly run through my head.

08.10  Seriously. Want. To. Go. Back. To. Bed. Now.

08.35 I can finally leave.  Looking forward to the 'joy' of dealing with the receptionist again to let me out...

08.45 I'm free.  I'm cold.  I need a coffee.  I want to treat myself to that Snoopy book about feeling sad that I hoped ex-partner might have thought-read and got me for my birthday, but hasn't so I'll have to get it myself.  Appropriate cartoon found therein almost immediately about waiting till the next day and everything being all right.  Only to find out the next day that everything's the same.  Suggestion being, wait until the afternoon to get up.  Hmm.  Should have thought of that myself.

08.51 Can't face going straight home.  Who knows how noisy the building work is today.  Stop in at Starbucks to get a mocha.  My bit of Czech needed comes out fine, if a little tired-sounding.  Get nice seat.  Check emails and try to read the Guardian online but it's no use, jet-lagged feeling persists.  Looking outside window at people gingerly walking downhill, I feel a sense of dread at having to find the energy to get home after this.

09.35 Get up and start lengthy process of putting on all the layers necessary to deal with the cold I'll soon have to face.  This is the tiring bit about winter.  I'm fed up of it already.  What an utter grumbleweed I am.

09.50 Finally get home to find scaffolding up in the building downstairs (yes, indoors!) and I have to duck to get under it to be able to go up the stairs.  What next?  Seriously, I'm so fed up of this.

10.00 Another check of emails and then bed.  I've had enough and I need a break.  Sleep.  Ah...thank god.

10.15 Banging from builders will NOT prevent me from sleep.  I have my headphones in and I'm listening to music more loudly than they are banging.  Result.  

12.30 Wake up.  Still feel a bit jet-lagged but what the hell.

12.45 Decide that a second breakfast is the only way forward.  Have tea instead of coffee this time.  So glad for the Earl Grey tea that Tesco finally had yesterday.

13.00 Contemplate the idea of having a restful day instead of doing things I hate.  It makes such a big difference.  I can breathe!  I can live!  I could even do some writing...

13.05  Back to Rihanna (this time 'Umbrella') loudly in my ears to help me really wake up.

14.00 Another hot water bottle necessary.  As well as tea.  I've still got tummy ache.  It won't go away.

14.05 Writing:  Getting.  It.  All.  Out.

15.55 Back to crying.  Listening to this old Plan B track.   Hello depression, my old friend...

16.21 Marie Forleo video break.  God bless that woman.