Bingo or bust

Tonight was bingo night at the Legion in Banff. Yes, you read that correctly. I've managed to get this far in my life without ever actually playing it, but tonight, due to a variety of circumstances too dull to go into, I missed the film I intended to go and see this evening and instead, I lost my bingo cherry.

Picture the scene. A smattering of Banff's older generation dotted around the Legion clubroom - which, even in Canada, looks exactly like you'd expect - cheek by jowl with a large number of the town's young, up-for-anything, transient population. $9 pitchers of beer on the go. A bingo caller who looked exactly like Seth Rogen's cop in Superbad, though with little of the easy-going charm. A group of volunteers who, as well as collecting and checking cards, doubled as bouncers.

Bingo, as you may already be aware, is an inherently dull process. Any activity that comprises calling out numbers, slowly, for a protracted period of time must be so, even if said activity is interspersed by people winning (small amounts of) money. So as the hours passed and the beer began to take its inevitable effect, the crowd began to find their own ways of relieving the boredom and trying to get into the spirit of the occasion. The bingo caller and his accomplices became more and more agitated at the alcohol-induced jollity that was spreading around the room. The announcements of 'please can you keep your voices down' and 'out of respect for those who have died for our country, please can you refrain from using profanity' became more frequent and warnings were given to people for tearing up beer mats and putting feet on chairs. Finally, three people, including our friend Jamie, were forcibly ejected into the -19 degrees outside for using their dabbers not just on their bingo paper, but on each other instead.

Boys will be boys

The boys I live with, Gravy & Zander, were on a climbing tour around the United States before they came to join us here in Canada. During this time, they were persuaded by one of their friends to participate in a photoshoot for a gay magazine (I forget which one or why, but it matters not). Being straight Aussie blokes, they were very uncomfortable with their close proximity while semi-naked, despite being best friends for the past 9 years, and when one shot required Gravy's hand to be placed on Zander's bottom, they needed a whole heap of beer to be consumed before it could take place. But still, they are both rather buff to say the least, so the finished product was worth their agony, as I'm sure you'll agree. Knowing I had a penchant for a bit of boy on boy action, Gravy made the mistake of emailing me the one picture they hadn't deleted from their hard drive and made me promise not to put it on facebook. I have kept that promise. But I never said I wouldn't put it on my blog; a technicality I have decided to exploit. Sorry boys.

My muscle injury continues to aggrieve me, and the painkillers I'm on are mighty strong. I've not taken any this morning as I have to go to the bank and the post office and, given that it snowed again overnight, I wish to get there in one piece. But when I get back and can slump on the sofa, I'll take some more and fly for a bit. I really wanted to go skiing tomorrow - loads of my friends will be on the slopes - but obviously, that's not an option just yet. Fingers crossed that next week I'll be up to another lesson and I can regain some confidence.

Pulling muscles from a shell

Sorry if the following is a little confused, but I'm doped to the eyeballs. Earlier today, just after I finished blogging in fact, I coughed and felt/heard a crack or a pop in my left lower ribcage, where my pulled muscle is. Immediately the pain became excruciating and when it didn't subside after a few minutes, if anything it got worse, I decided on my flatmate Chelsea's advice to go to the clinic. Thank God they're open 7 days a week. I could barely walk, couldn't breathe very well and kept crying. I made it to the clinic with Chelsea's help and got seen by a doctor who confirmed that it sounded like either a severe strain, a small tear in my intercostal muscle or a cracked rib. The treatment is the same, whichever, so we decided not to do an x-ray. He gave me an injection of Demerol, which is pethidine to us Brits. He then gave me a prescription for Percocet, as well as a very strong muscle relaxant and an asthma inhaler.

So now I know what opiates feel like, having been giving them to women for years. Very very spacey, and I barely remember the events of the early evening. I wouldn't say it took the pain away exactly, just made me care about it less really. Apparently I repeated myself a lot. I couldn't remember whether I ate dinner (I did; thanks Chelsea). I'm in a lot of pain when moving or coughing now, and still feel woosy, but it's wearing off, so I've just taken the Percocet and muscle relaxant and, while the others have popped off to the pub, I'm off to bed. I better clean my teeth quickly before they kick in and I pass out.....

I expected to injure myself skiing at some point, but I never thought I would manage to injure myself while talking to Silas on MSN. Very embarrassing.

Easy like Sunday morning

I got 11 hours sleep last night - what luxury! - and have spent today mainly fiddling around on iTunes in my dressing gown eating biscuits. I've created a 'Beaver Nights' playlist of all our fave tunes, am currently doing the playback, i.e. listening to it in sequence to check that all the songs go well together and are in the right order. So much easier these days than when I used to spend hours making mix tapes on cassette; not only did you have to be sat in front of the stereo the whole time lining up the next track and making sure the levels were right, but if you did the playback and decided a song was in the wrong place, or didn't in fact belong on there at all, there was no way of taking it out without redoing the whole side. Many's a tape I remember where one song jarred every time I listened to it. Nowadays, of course, it's all drag and drop into a playlist, where you can do as much adjusting as you like, then sync to your iPod for ultimate portability. Easy as pie. I love modern life. Incidentally, in case you're interested, my favourite song of the moment is the Foo Fighters' The Pretender. Just can't get enough of it.

Last night Laura & I went down to town to watch the Santa Claus festival of lights parade, which was very pretty indeed. My photos suck, sadly, because they're all dark and blurry. But the big guy himself did put in an appearance, which excited Laura no end.

Hi ho, hi ho

Bit of an update on things generally. I've decided to go full-time at Sunshine, as I'm enjoying the work and everyone else I know is full-time there anyway, which makes it a sociable event. I really like my crew at Guest Services, the work is not too difficult and I think I'm pretty good at it. My boss jumped at the chance of getting me full-time, so I can't be too bad anyway! Today I was sat at the opposite desk (part of the Ski School desk) to where I normally sit, doing Direct-to-Lift pass conversions (don't worry what that means, but just know that it involves lots of paperwork.) However, whereas my normal desk is nice and warm, this one was directly in a freezing cold draught (and draughts here can literally be freezing) which set my Reynaud's off something chronic. Ever tried to type addresses & take payments with no feeling in your hands? With people staring at your dead white/grey fingers like you're some kind of freak? Then, when my printer broke, the queue moved firmly into the 'ridiculously long' category, and the people comprising the queue went into 'thoroughly pissed off' mode, it all became great fun! But the best thing is that when I walk out the door, I don't have to think about it. At all. Such a luxury I've not had for 7 years.

I've developed a bit of friendly banter with the guests that gets me through the day. You know, the little jokes that you say repeatedly in your job that make you laugh, if no one else? Well when I'm doing DTL conversions I have to take a credit card imprint and get the person to sign at the bottom. I've taken to saying "...and if you can just sign here, this authorises us to take the money from your credit card to pay for our staff Christmas party this year..." Usually raises a laugh, but some don't even react, which as far as I'm concerned is tantamount to permission. Today I had 4 people together, so I started with the Christmas party joke, then for the next girl I said it was for our beer fund for the next month. The next one I told we would take for a staff trip to the next Calgary Flames game (ice hockey) and with the final chap I thought for a while and finally ventured forth with "well, I do need a new pair of shoes..." They all seemed perfectly agreeable.

I did in fact buy a new pair of shoes on my way home today. Well, boots would be more accurate I suppose, and they are nice and warm, which is more than a bonus out here. It rarely gets close to freezing point now, normally bumping around the -5 mark in town but it was -16 the last time I was up on the top of the ski hill. My ancient Levi boots are lovely - and really warm considering they're not really geared up for these kind of temperatures - but as they're about 6 years old, they have no grip on the bottom anymore, which is a bit of a hazard. I totally stacked it on the icy stairs coming out of the boys' flat downstairs the other day, which would have been far less embarrassing if Rory & Andrew hadn't been outside smoking and saw the whole thing. I have an enormously impressive bruise on my left hip and another on my right arm, as well as the echo of the boys' laughter still ringing in my ears, to show for it.

Oh and for those who have been following the cough saga, you'll be delighted no doubt to know my bronchitis is now on its way out. The muscle I have pulled in my left side is still very painful (I actually wondered if I had developed a hernia, but maybe I'm being paranoid) but the coughing no longer keeps me awake at night (hurrah!) and is perfectly manageable during the day. I'm so happy I could cry.

Spoke too soon

Had a second day's skiing today, but this time I was skiing alone. The skies were blue, the temp was something like -16 and the snow was flat and icy, which meant that I spent much of my time bombing down at breakneck* speeds and struggling to control it. I had some really good runs, but also some bloody terrifying ones. This, combined with my bronchitis (did I mention that before? I've been coughing myself stupid for weeks and now have a pulled muscle in my left rib cage which is agony), and my recent poor sleeping record (some self-inflicted, most cough-induced), has left me feeling very down today. In fact, I cried all the way home from the ski hill on the bus. I suppose I should cut myself some slack; I've only been skiing for 2 days. But still, I'm not used to feeling scared and was really annoyed with myself for not being, well, better. Plus all my friends are snowboarders, so I don't really have anyone to talk to about it, or to go on runs with (I tried to go on a run with them today but within 2 minutes they'd disappeared into the distance in a flurry of snow, even Zander, who's only been snowboarding for just over a week but is already bombing down blue runs like he's been doing it for years).

So, in the spirit of trying to be positive, even though I don't feel it today, I'm going to have another lesson soon - Sunday hopefully if there's spaces - and try to regain my confidence. And I took this picture at the top of one of the hills today, which shows that even if I'm not any good at it, I still get to enjoy the views:


* I have a whole new appreciation for this phrase

Ski Sunday

Yesterday was my first ski lesson on a proper mountain. And it was fantastic! I am so relieved, I did feel I was taking a bit of gamble coming to live in a ski resort for 7 months without actually knowing whether or not I liked it, but fortunately it all worked out for the best. I'm afraid I was too busy learning stuff (and wearing mittens) to take pictures on the mountain so a picture of me doing the TV slalom will have to suffice. My new down jacket was a great investment as one of my biggest fears was being freezing cold all day, but in fact I was warm as toast. Even my hands stayed warm thanks to my mittens! Feet got a bit cold but that's to be expected I suppose. And thanks to Megan and the loan of her fabulous skis, I slid down that mountain a right treat, I can tell you! It was an all day lesson and though I started off rather unsteady on my feet, by the end I had those parallel turns nailed. If anything, I need to go a bit slower (my instructor reckoned that being a biker has given me confidence at speed) until my control is a bit stronger, but I only fell over 3 times, which isn't bad going, and one of those was when an old guy took me out getting off the chair lift. I'm not even hurting too badly today, and would have gone back to the slopes if I hadn't had my first training session at the steak restaurant I'm going to be working this afternoon. I've got loads of homework to do - this restaurant demands you know all about different types of cows, where the cuts of meat come from, how they're prepared, everything. Plus you have to know every single ingredient in every single dish on the menu - there's a written food test that you need to get over 90% to pass. Although I'm struggling with learning it all, I still think it's great, it's what all restaurants should do, because back home I'm fed up of crap service.

Speaking of which, I should probably try to get some more sleep in before I go. Last night was our lovely friend Mike's leaving do, as he's heading back to England to join the Army. We've all been trying to persuade him to stay, particularly as he has a Canadian passport, but he seems set on going, damn him. Although I was absolutely shattered after my day's skiing, I dragged my sorry arse out to say goodbye, intending to be out an hour or so, but ended up staying out till some godforsaken hour of the morning, when the inevitable coughing fits (I'm still coughing like a bastard after nearly 3 weeks and am beginning to wonder if I've developed bronchitis or something) kept me awake for most of the rest of the night. Anyway, photos of the love-fest in the usual place. We all love Mike, so much so that we even forgive him for being sick on our kitchen floor the other week. Bless his cottons.

Aaaahhhht clubbin'

One thing I find interesting is that you can get used to anything. Those who know me well back home will be aware that as an a) non-drinker and a b) thirty-something, going clubbing is normally my idea of hell. Thousands of drunk people squashed into a sticky-floored, minimally-seated arena; bad bad music blasting out at a thousand million decibels so you can't hear how much drivel someone is actually spouting whilst they spit copiously in your ear; interminable queues for overpriced drinks which get spilled by someone's overenthusiastic dancing the moment you turn away from the bar; elbows freely and repeatedly placed into your kidney or stomach; anonymous erections pressed into your back the moment you approach the dance floor; the constant vigilance you need to avoid the next fight breaking out/person about to vomit; the layer of sweat that soaks your every item of clothing that you're not entirely sure is all yours; the ongoing internal dialogue about whether you've endured it long enough to justify the extortionate entrance fee.

But.


I'm now, it seems, someone who goes clubbing pretty much every week. Much as all the above still remains as true as ever, I have found that being with good people (because my crowd are ACE), free soft drinks all night (I love being a non-drinker in Canada!) and dancing up a storm despite the direty of the music gets you through it. Photos of the debauchery (see here for latest) are traded as currency the following day, along with 'Do you know what YOU did last night?' 'Oh God no, what did I do? No, before you tell me, let me tell you what YOU did' and the rush to upload the evidence to facebook is often frenzied. I actually rather enjoy being the only one who remembers all of the previous night's events and whom the others look to for confirmation/clarification of the rumour mill's latest. And, as some of the photos will undoubtedly show, I believe I have proved repeatedly that I can hold my own in the fun-stakes, despite being sober as a judge.

Quite possibly pointless

Modern life, eh? I just had a fairly lengthy conversation with my flatmate Laura via facebook, whilst I'm in my bed and she's in the lounge, for no particular reason. It was fun.

Meant to say, non-facebookers can find latest photos here and here.

Can't help but be a smug bastard

First day training for my new job today and this is where I now work. Don't all be jealous now. I mean, yes, it is very beautiful, and yes, I will get to go skiing for free, and yes, I do work with cool people, and yes... well okay, you can be jealous actually. It is very cold, but then that's the price you pay for all the snow I suppose. Today it was -8 degrees up at the ski hill (a 17 minute gondola ride up from where I work) which seemed pretty bloody cold to me, but that is small fry compared to how cold it's going to get later in the season. I think I will get those battery-operated boot warmers built into my ski boots after all...

Life in Beaver Street remains damn good. Every night the gang come round and we have a spot of dinner, or sit around and watch TV (Miami Ink marathon last night) or we just debate the pertinent issues of the day. For example, a couple of nights ago, we wondered aloud if you could actually get 2 people into Gravy's fatman trousers. As you can see, the answer was a resounding yes.

Tonight, in honour of the fact that it was Bonfire Night but fireworks are illegal to buy here and we live in a National Park so we can't build fires, I decided to cook a huge chilli, which was, in Zander's words, 'gold'. Or he might have said 'cold', I'm not quite sure. Anyway, it's safe to say I'm enjoying my time here immensely.

Oh and we've finally got our wireless internet working in the flat so I'm typing this from my bed. Hurray!

Halloween & Beavers

Halloween was a debauched affair. Banff turned into Party Party Party town, where everyone but EVERYONE was dressed to the nines and out in force in the bars. Everyone had made such a fantastic effort, and though I had bought the lamest and cheapest costume I could find, it still made an impact. I arrived dressed as a ghost with my face mask at the Magpie & Stump to find Hayley and Laura, already pretty trollied, shouting 'NO FACE NO FACE! Come here to have a picture taken with us!' to me. Assuming they had realised it was me, I went over and much hugging and phototaking was had. However, five minutes later, Laura suddenly said 'And I don't even know your name!', to which I pulled off my mask and she freaked out that it was me. Ha ha. The evening passed in a blur - despite the fact that I was the only person in Banff not drinking - and contained such gems as Jamie being sick into his hat at 9.30pm and Laura shouting 'Kiss me NOW!' to some Aussie guy in the middle of the road. A good time was had by all.

Yesterday was my orientation at work, which consisted of a day listening to talks about Sunshine Village's various different departments and what they do, how not to get STDs whilst in Banff - where I won a condom holder for knowing what the second most prevalent STD in Banff was (gonorrhoea of course - I wonder what I'd have won for being able to spell it correctly?) - and a long talk about different ways you're liable to kill yourself on the mountain.

It scared the bejesus out of me. As a non-skier, I have no idea what it's like to be out there in -15 degrees hurtling down a mountain, though it sounds scary enough. However, when you are then bombarded by pictures of people with various different hideously scarring and/or life-threatening injuries, and repeated stories of 'staff members whose bodies I have pulled out from under an avalanche/under a snowcat/peeled off a tree' and 'phone calls I've had to make to parents to tell them their son/daughter isn't coming home', it makes you think twice about even trying it. I mean, I know that's why I came here, and I also know that thousands and thousands of people ski every day without killing themselves, but I'm still getting nervous about it.

Then I headed back to Banff on the bus, picked up my bags and headed down the hill to my new home, on Beaver Street. Many people have pointed out that, given my job back home, I pretty much already live on Beaver Street, but now it's official. The house may not look like much from the outside, but my room is twice the size of the other girls (yay!) and I have a big comfy double bed. I already know one of my roomies, Laura, who travelled over from the UK to Vancouver with me back in September, but met the other girls last night, Chelsea (Aussie) and Jess (Canadian) and they're cool. Of course I immediately began doing a big clean, to which the others looked on in total bemusement. "Is the landlady coming over?" When I told them I was cleaning for myself, because I wanted to be able to cook/clean myself in a clean environment, I was given some odd looks. I pointed out that they've clearly never owned their own place. But hey, they're very young yet.

Despite the 'no visitors after 10.30pm' rule, we had visitors till around 11.30pm - ha! - Kate & Chris, who both moved into their respective places yesterday too, and Dave & Zander, who are living in the flat below us, so we ate dinner, watched Gladiator, tried to get the wireless internet up and running but failed (though we can hard wire it), and chatted about stuff and things. Damn good start to the living arrangements.