My name is Mia and I'm not an alcoholic

The fact that I don't drink has long been a source of amusement and fascination for, well, pretty much everyone it seems. The most typical version of the conversation goes as follows:

Random Person: What are you drinking?
Me: Coke
RP: Just Coke?
Me: Yes.
RP: Are you driving?
Me: No, I don't drink.
RP: You don't drink? Not at all?
Me: No.
RP: Really?
Me: Yes.
RP: Well done you. I wish I didn't drink [takes another swig of beer]. Why don't you drink then?
Me: I don't really like it.
RP: Me neither [another swig]. I don't know why I do it [orders another beer]. So you really don't drink then?
Me: No, I really don't drink.
RP: Are you religious?
Me: No. My body is not a temple and neither am I a recovering alcoholic.
RP: Well then. Go on, just have one.
Me: No thanks.
RP: You probably just haven't found the right drink yet.
Me: I've worked in numerous pubs and have tried every drink under the sun, but I'm just not really interested.
RP: You should try [insert random drink name], you can't even taste the alcohol in that.
Me: I'm pretty sure I could actually. And anyway, I don't really like being drunk so I'd rather not.
RP: Oh it's great - you should have seen me, I was so pissed last week I... [insert random disgusting act, usually involving vomiting or urinating in an inappropriate place and/or a near-death experience]

I could go on, but given that I already have to endure this conversation several times a week, I don't really want to bore us all.

The thing is, my decision not to drink is not a difficult one, by any means. When people say to me 'well done', as they so often do, it implies some degree of effort on my part. Let me clear this up once and for all: there is no effort involved. I LOVE not drinking.

I don't like the taste of alcohol. Even alcoholic drinks I almost enjoy - well, that's only gin & tonic to be precise - would taste much nicer to me if it didn't have alcohol in it. There is no alcoholic drink that I 'can't taste the alcohol' in. I can taste alcohol in a trifle, I can certainly taste it in a Sex on a Cosmopolitan Beach with a Sea Breeze. I don't enjoy feeling drunk. It doesn't make me any more able to chat to people, or to dance, or to flirt, than when I'm sober. If anything, it slightly detracts from these things. It doesn't make me more likely to do outrageous things, and I don't want it to. I believe the facebook photos prove I'm enough of a liability when sober. I hate seeing people - particularly friends - doing embarrassing things because they're drunk and I don't want that to be me. I have never experienced the 'once I start drinking I just want to carry on' feeling. Once I've drunk 3 or 4 drinks and feel totally trashed, I just want to start drinking soft drinks. I hate the thought of being so drunk I forget things that have happened. I hate the thought of not knowing how I got home, or of relying on friends (or, God forbid, strangers) to get me home safely. I have no desire to accidentally sleep with someone I didn't fancy or didn't know the name of or, worse, not be able to remember if I did or not. I can't stand being sick and have no desire to induce this process in any way. I'd be mortally embarrassed if I was sick in an inappropriate place and if someone else had to clear it up, doubly so. I don't understand why seemingly normal, sane people seem to think that being incapacitated and vomiting on their friend's carpet/bed/grandmother is funny or desirable. I find it hard enough to get up in the mornings; how people do it with a hangover - or still drunk - I really don't know. Add to that having had only a couple of hours sleep and a day's work to look forward to and you've got yourself a really shitty day. Is it really worth it? Many people seem to think it is.

I realise not everyone who drinks behaves like this. I also realise that I have good friends, who I love and adore, who do experience these things and it doesn't make them bad people. It's just that, personally, I don't get it.

In the name of transparency, I'm happy to admit there have been occasions - 3 or 4 recently - when I've had a few drinks to see if I can work out what all the fuss it about (my body, as I've mentioned previously, is not a temple and I don't not drink for any moral reasons, so I can break my own rules any time I want). I am pleased to report that the results of the rigorous scientific testing I have carried out prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I'm definitely not missing out on anything.

Pink Moon*

The lunar eclipse tonight**

*Thanks goes to Nick Drake for inspiring this title
**Thanks goes to Zander for loaning me his anal probe, oops sorry, tripod, to take this picture

Catching up

You know how you want to blog about something exciting, but don't get the time, then something else happens but you don't want to blog about that till you've got round to blogging about the first thing, then before you know it, you haven't blogged for ages and you know that when you do you're going to have to write loads so that puts you off and then everyone starts sending you 'you haven't blogged for ages, are you ok?' emails...? Hmmm. Yes. Well, here goes, I'll try to keep it brief.

So let me start from the first exciting thing. Just over a week ago I went on a road trip with some of my buddies to Montana in the US of A. We crammed 9 of us into 2
rooms at the Super 8 Motel in Whitefish and skied for 2 days at Big Mountain, which was beyond awesome. There was tons and tons of snow, and it was very different from the snow we get at Sunshine - very wet in fact. We ended each day twice as heavy as we began. We saw tons of snow ghosts (which is where the trees are totally covered in snow and look like ghosts. Duh.) The runs were great, lots of tree runs with waist deep powder and the first day I really struggled to get down them with my skis because they're quite long and more suitable for carving on groomed runs. I stacked it quite a lot but it was soft to fall in so I didn't mind, but come day 2, I decided that I needed something more suitable for the terrain. I rented a pair of Rossignol Bandits, which I was told would be suitable for all mountain skiing. Well. They were AWESOME and enabled me to ski everything, including my first double black diamond (Picture Chutes, in case you're interested). I handed them back reluctantly but the following day we went to do a bit of shopping to take advantage of the cheap American prices and I ended up getting a sweet sweet deal on some of my own! Kate & I, along with our compadres Sarah & Lyndsey, also hit the terrain park while we were there and I rode my first ever rail. Or box. Or whatever it was. Anyway, I managed to get over it without falling and land on the other side, which surprised me so much that I fell over as soon as I realised.


The footage of this will, of course, go into the snowboarding/skiing video that Kate & I are currently making, provisionally titled '40 Fanny Stacks'. So that was Montana. A great success all round.

Then the other night we decided to go ice skating up at the outdoor rink at the Banff
Springs Hotel. A combination of missing the bus, not knowing where we were going and having to go somewhere else entirely to rent skates meant that we only had half an hour to skate so speed skating was the order of the day, which was most enjoyable. Matt, Laura & I rocked our way cool Beaver St Massiv hoodies, designed by Zander and now owned by every member of the Beaver, as well as selected couch surfers that we've had, in a variety of colours. We look so rad* when we go out en masse with our hoodies.

Then yesterday I had another ski lesson, which was cool, because the sun was glorious and the air was ridiculously warm. My skiing is coming along leaps and bounds and I
don't think there's anything I won't at least have a go at now. Being on my new skis helps tons! They are so flexible and easy to turn on, so come powder or moguls, I can attack them with confidence. Today I went out again with Chris, Amy & Chris's friend Dave and we hit the whole resort. I did 2 jumps, which I even managed to land! I'll be honest, Whitefish has somewhat spoiled us for terrain and snow, so Sunshine does now pale into insignificance in some respects, but hey, it's my home mountain and I know which runs I like, so I can't really complain...

*I'm 19 again.

Sick as a dawg

Just over a week ago, I got another cold. I've actually lost count of the number of colds I've had out here in Canada - far far more than I'd ever have expected to get back home, where I'm actually pretty damn healthy - not to mention that sodding bronchitis I had, so when this one developed I thought, ah well, back to the old decongestant spray and cough sweets, good thing I've still got some left over, eh?

The cold was fine in the first few days and didn't stop me when we went to Kicking Horse, but the aching I described at the end of my last post seemed to get worse throughout the day, along with a general feeling of malaise and exhaustion. This is weird, I thought, until about 4pm on Saturday, when I realised that I was in fact ill. Ah, that explains it. I warned my boss I might have to call in sick and went home to rest. That night my whole house were heading out to celebrate Rachel's last night in town by going to a Jelly Wrestling party*, but I was beginning to develop a temperature so as the others headed out, I headed to bed instead. A fitful night saw me with a raging temperature in the morning and so weak that I couldn't call out to get my flatmate Chelsea to come in to my room. Eventually I called our house phone with my mobile (ah the wonders of modern life) and she came in. Paracetamol and ibuprofen did not seem able to knock my temperature down so Chelsea - and gawd bless her cottons for this - got cold flannels and sponged me down. I was scared, because I haven't had that high a temperature in years and genuinely thought I had meningitis or something. I got Chelsea - who seriously deserves a medal - to check me for rashes. Eventually she had to go, leaving me with a nashi pear for sustenance, and I spend the day drifting in and out of sleep, at times hot, at times cold, in the way of such things.

The following 2 days saw a steady improvement, though the cold, which I've now come to think of as unrelated to the subsequent flu (and this was proper flu, not just a bad cold) was able to proliferate in my weakened immune system to the extent that by Tuesday, when I was able to leave the house with friends to go shopping, I was literally a mucous factory. I've never produced so much mucous in my entire life. I was thinking of setting up some kind of bio-chemical plant, because I reckon if we could find a way to make it power cars, I could be rich, rich I tells ya. Or I could use it to make a rival product to blu tack - green tack I thought I might call it - and conquer the world that way instead. Anyway, I went to a pharmacist to ask for help with reducing the mucousy proportions. He suggested psuedoephidrine, which I was sure was the stuff that used to send me a bit loopy as a teenager, and have avoided ever since just in case. Still, I was desperate, so on top of my already extensive pharmaceutical line-up of ibuprofen, acetominophen (which is what they call paracetamol over here for reasons best known to themeselves), xylometazoline nasal spray, antibacterial/anaesthetic lozenges and Ricola swiss herb cough drops, I gave the psuedoephidrine a go.

Yes, it was the stuff that made me loopy as a teenager, and yes, it still has the same effect now. I was on the floor half an hour later - not a metaphor incidentally - and was high as a kite for hours, much to the amusement of my friends. Nonetheless, I had planned to go curling** with the gang from work, which I decided I was up to so off I went. It was fun, though who would have thought that my natural clumsiness would have extended to being on an icy surface, wearing one slippy shoe-cover, and attempting to scrub furiously at the path of a large heavy object? Who knew? Several new bruises later and we headed off to Mel's, because it was 2 friends' birthdays and there was a fancydress party going on. All the girls were dressed as things beginning with D and the boys with things beginning with E (first letters of the names of the birthday boy & girl). Gravy, Ben & Nathan had gone as the Euro Ski Team (sponsored by Spam), which we just had to see, and other notables included a duck, a domino, and the most terrifying interpretation of 'Tickle Me' Elmo you're ever likely to see this side of a Stephen King adaptation. I managed to bear up till around midnight, at which point I started feeling very hot, and realised I was about to faint. I quickly crouched down and got helped out by the doorman, who had just had the flu himself and understood such things. I got home and went to bed, only to spend the entire night lying awake, naturally.

I went home from work early yesterday and today have called in sick again, on my boss's recommendation. Will probably go to the doctors, though this is not a decision to take lightly over here because a) I don't get sick pay so I'm losing money by being off and b) it will probably cost me around $150 to visit the clinic. I reckon I'll barely make rent this month at this rate. However, since I'm still a mucous factory (bouncy balls, anyone?), have a very sore throat which the pharmacist the other day reckoned was the beginnings of 'strep throat' and, on top of all of that, looks like I'm developing conjunctivitis in my right eye (thanks, surpressed immune system!), it might be a good idea. Plus I'm a bit scared of my boss and if I don't go she'll be cross with me. Ah well, that's what credit cards are for, I suppose.

Increased numbers of white blood cell thoughts from everyone please.

*Banff is full of such things. It was in a house, they had a large pool lined with plastic and several buckets of jelly. And yes, people got into their swimming costumes and wrestled in it. Gravy was one of them - wrestled with 2 bikini-clad girls I understand - and he is still finding jelly in all sorts of nooks and crannies.
**yes, the thing where you slide big lumps of rock along the ice towards a target, whilst your team mates scrub furiously at the ice with a broom. And in answer to your question, why not?

Kicking the horse

Yesterday I visited Kicking Horse with some friends, and faced some of the most challenging terrain I'd been on. I was with five good snowboarders and one very good skier (Rachel, Zander's sister) so I was a bit worried that I'd be left behind - particularly given that I hadn't skied for 3 weeks due to my leg still being swollen and painful (painkillers and a positive attitude got me a long way yesterday) - but nevertheless we headed straight for one of the trickiest parts of the mountain for our first run.

As we passed over Redemption Ridge on the chairlift, I told Rachel that I didn't think I would be able to ski it. She assured me I'd be fine - ha! - so I thought I'd just do my best and take it slowly. All very well, but 'taking it slowly' didn't seem to be an option once I got on to the narrow, bumpy terrain with drops either side because my skis kept gathering speed and I didn't seem able to find anywhere that allowed me to slow down. Consequently, I fell over alot. Then when we dropped off to the right, onto a super steep alpine path, I took one look and said to Rachel 'I have absolutely no idea how to even start turning on this!' She talked me through it and, despite falling over alot (again), I managed to get downhill onto a blue groomed run where I could let my skis rip. Back up the lift a second time to have another go and this time, following Rachel's advice, I decided to try to go with the speed a bit on the narrow bumpy bit. This quickly got out of hand, when I panicked and felt I had to stop now!, and only managed to do so by plowing head first into a wall of ice. I was wearing a helmet, thank goodness, but still came close to knocking myself out and instantly had a very vivid flashback to a dream I'd had a couple of weeks previously, involving big red and blue monsters, which seemed perfectly reasonable to me at the time. Rachel was laughing nervously and wondering if she needed to get the ski patrol, but being hardcore, I rested for a minute or two then skied down. I did sit the next run out (and, in all honesty, had a little cry out of frustration to boot) but then went back up to try again. Much better this time, as Rachel helped me work on side slipping properly. Then, futher down, we dropped off the left-hand side into Feuz Bowl, which was super steep but full of powder and I worked on my jump turns. Jump 1, not too bad. Jump 2, getting better. Jump 3, my right ski flies off and heads down the mountain at breakneck speed. Rachel skied down and retrieved it, whilst I slid down the huge steep powdery hill on my arse, with my one remaining ski held aloft and giggling all the way.

Lunch followed and in the afternoon we split into 2 groups: Gravy, Zander & Rachel headed to CPR Ridge, which sounded a bit hardcore for me with my dodgy leg and, already by now, tired and aching muscles, so I joined Scott, Ben & Jess hitting the groomed greens and blues.

Today I am paying the price for the physical exertion by having every muscle in my body feel like it's been run through a mangle, a couple of new bruises on my thighs to add to my ever-growing collection, a tiny bruise by my left eye and a sore chin. But hey, we had fun and thanks to my helmet I still have an intact skull, so that's always a bonus!

Victorian values

Modern life often consists of households sitting around watching the telly together - think The Royle Family - and although The Beaver enjoy nothing more than a damn good LA Ink marathon, we don't actually watch much telly over here. This is in no small part due to the fact that North American TV sucks donkey balls. You can easily have 50 channels of absolute rubbish that you wouldn't watch unless you were forced at gunpoint and, should you find yourself in such a situation, you can literally feel your brain dropping an IQ point for every minute you endure it. Clichéd police nonsense, for the most part, with an ad break every 3 1/2 minutes.*

Now, however, our telly has stopped working. I put in on a few days ago, only to hear a loud bang a few minutes later. The picture and sound disappeared to be replaced with a blank screen and loud electrical hum, which was actually an improvement on the show we were watching. So nowadays we feel a little like a Victorian family, sat around the kitchen or living room of an evening, listening to music (from a iPod rather than a gramaphone, but that's possibly splitting hairs), with our latest crochet or knitting on our laps, chatting amiable and swapping stories of our respective countries, hobbies or, more often than not, travelling tales. Much much better than Canadian television, and far more likely to enrich our lives.

*The only programme that Laura & I try never to miss is Sit and Be Fit, an exercise programme for the elderly and infirm, from which we have devised most of our kickass dance moves. 'Moving the Water' and 'Spider on a Mirror' are two of our favourites.

Rocks

There is not a single day when I don't look out at the Rockies and think to myself that I'm one of the luckiest people in the world to live amongst them. On my way home from work I find myself staring out of the window of the bus with what feels like a thirst, a desperate need to drink in the incredible views as deeply as I can. I want to try to hold them inside of me and make sure I remember them - exactly - forever. Is there any better reason to get up in the morning? The majesty of them at once humbles me and inspires me to greater things.

Before I came out here, many people told me that travelling gives you the opportunity to see and do things that you otherwise never would and that it will irreparably alter your perspective on life. I nodded and smiled and agreed, but never really understood till I took the leap and found myself here; now I know what they meant. In so many ways, I will never be the same again and I wouldn't have it any other way.

It's not just the mountains that inspire me. I've found so much in the people I've surrounded myself with out here to admire. Time and time again I've had my hastily put-together first impressions shattered when I've merely scratched the surface and have made friends who, not only do I believe will be my friends for life, but who have made me a better person at the same time. I hope that I can take some of their passion, their enthusiasm, their positivity and their perspective forward into my own life.

10 Things I Have Learnt in Canada

1. Skiing is fun and not as cold as I thought it would be.
2. I can now do figure-of-eight, double figure-of-eight, bowline and sheet bend knots. I even know what they're good for.
3. You should never sing Wuthering Heights at a karaoke. It was not me who attempted it, I wish to point out, but the girl who did is currently doing 15 years for first degree murder.
4. Communal living can be enormous fun. It can also be messy and unpleasant at times. Having the bath plug clogged with your flatmate's vomit being a point in case.
5. Rocks and legs do not mix.
6. The feeling of sinking an axe a few millimetres into ice and relying on it to haul you up a slippy vertical face is without equal.
7. A duvet is an essential item of bedware and worth every penny.
8. It is perfectly possible to go out for the evening in -15 degrees wearing only a hoodie in order to save money and time on coat checking, as long as you walk quickly or have some good friends to cuddle up to.
9. There are many different types of snow. Many of them are useless for making snowballs.
10. Crochet rocks.

Beanie baby

Thanks to a particularly slow day at work, less than 24 hours after I began my crocheting career, I have finished my first toque. Though the boys have complained that it's 'girly' and refused to call the colours involved by their proper, wool-company given names*, I'm very proud of my achievement and plan to start my second hat this very eve.

*Aubergine, merlot and ivory. Not, as they would have it, purple, pink and cream.

Kicking ice

Today Zander & I went ice climbing. Gravy was going to come with us but he'd hurt his shoulder yesterday doing (or not quite doing, as is slightly more accurate) a front 3* on his snowboard, so it was just the two of us, which actually worked out pretty well, as we only really had enough equipment for two and it meant I got more time on the ice.

I've been climbing stuff since I was a kid, though mainly trees and the like. I always fancied having a go at rock climbing but have never known any climbers so the opportunity has never arisen. I never had any interest in ice climbing before, because I thought it would be too cold, but the boys went a couple of weeks ago and when I saw the amazing pictures, I decided I just had to have a go. Secretly I was hoping I'd be quite good at it, but thought it was best not to have any real expectations, given that it was my first time.

Oh man it was awesome. I had so much fun I can't even tell you. No sooner had Zander put me in a harness, talked me through the basics and handed me the ice axes, then I was attacking the ice with zeal. The first climb was fairly easy but good to get to grips with the concept. The second was a bit harder, and at one point my feet lost grip, leaving me hanging by my axes, which was a bit hairy. After a spot of food (my leftover risotto from the night before, surprisingly good cold), we went back for a third ascent, which included a fair amount of vertical action. It felt amazing to be searching for good footholds, whacking my axes in and testing the hold and looking back at the incredible views. Zander told me on more than one occasion that he was impressed with how well I was doing, which from him is pretty cool, because he's certainly not known as a man to bandy around compliments willy-nilly.

Descending from these climbs means abseiling with the belay (person at the bottom holding the other end of the rope) controlling your speed by slowly letting out the rope. If s/he lets you down too quickly (or lets go of the rope!) you're pretty much buggered. If your anchor point - in our case a v-thread and an ice screw - at the top isn't sound, the same goes. However, climbing with Zander filled me with confidence because I knew he was a safe pair of hands, who knows his stuff and takes safety seriously. On my third abseil down, I shouted for him to stop for a moment and he shouted up to check I was okay. I turned around - 90 degrees to the ice, crampons dug in, and with seemingly the whole world below me - and just shouted down "HOW FUCKING AWESOME IS THIS?!" A moment I'll remember for ever as one of the most amazing of my life to date.

Incidentally, my leg coped well with it, despite currently looking like this:


Gnarly, eh? I have, however, cancelled my trip to Panorama because I think that leaning forward into my ski boot might just be a bit too painful. If I could even get the boot on that is, due to the swelling I still have.

Full pictures here.

*Nope, me neither

Ouch

Left work early today to go skiing. The conditions were amazing - not too cold, lots of powder around, newly waxed skis - and I was having a ball. On my fourth run I decided to take an interesting path which took me around a cliff and down a steep mogully bit. At one point I was skiing down a path around 1.5 ft wide with huge rocks to my left and a drop to my right, so I hugged the boulders in order to avoid the drop while I hurtled downwards. However, a rock sticking out of the wall on my left decided to collide with my shin, which stopped me painfully in my tracks. After 5 mins of sitting and waiting for the stinging to subside whilst considering my next move, I gingerly skied down and spent the next 20 mins sitting in the Daylodge with a bag of ice on my shin. I thought I might be able to ski on, but no go, as I could barely walk by the time I got up. I hobbled to the Gondola and came down to catch the bus home and was very very pissed off indeed.

I came home and put a bag of snow on it (luckily I have a ready supply), but now have a lump the size of, well, something particularly large that doesn't belong on a shin on it. And it hurts like buggery. Actually, I think I'd prefer the buggery. Got to rest it up and ice it for the next few days because on Monday I'm going ice-climbing with the boys (and ain't nothing gonna stop me) and on Tuesday I have a staff trip to another ski resort, Panorama, which I really want to go on. So everyone's fingers crossed it goes down in time, please.

More skiing tales

Went skiing yesterday and today (well what else am I going to do on my days off?!); yesterday I had a blue runner lesson and worked on turning all day. The conditions were amazing and, due to an effect caused by fresh snow and sun beating down for which the First Nations people undoubtedly have a name, the whole of the air was sparkling as tiny particles of snow were blown around! It really looked incredible. Today Gravy & I met up in the afternoon and did some hucking of the gnar and I was relieved and happy to discover I could pretty much keep up with him, even though we were doing some black runs. I did take a couple of good stacks - one where I went arse over tit, then spun round at least 3 times on my back ending up 30 feet away from my skis! - but nothing I couldn't handle. I'm clearly getting better. Hurrah.

Woolly goings on

The crochet revolution is upon us. I'm fairly sure that none of the boys travelling to Canada to spend their winter in a ski resort suspected that they'd be spending it crocheting like maniacs; in fact, when we first moved into our house and Andrew sat on our sofa crocheting his latest beanie, I seem to remember we all laughed at him. However, when said beanie (or toque, which is pronounced toook) was finished, it seemed less funny. Impressive, in fact. Gravy - with his certified beanie addiction - asked him to teach him how to do it and within hours he was hooked*. Chris followed suit and Zander, despite being initially scathing about the prospect, fell into line not long after. Now you literally can't walk anywhere in the Beaver without tripping over balls of wool and getting crochet needles stuck in your socks. We are practically drowning in beanies and Gravy could probably wear a different one every day of the month without repeating himself. In what I consider a stroke of genius, Zander's first beanie has 'Beaver St Massiv' woven into the band.

At the moment we have 2 English guys sleeping on our couches - JK and Matt - who I fully expected to laugh at the boys' sissy ways; instead they confessed that they were both knitters and a crochet/knit-off has now begun.

Personally, I'm delighted by the whole thing. Though I have not yet taken the plunge myself - far too impatient for that kind of nonsense - I could watch the others crochet for hours; I find it highly relaxing. Plus I have benefitted from the revolution with a lovely black & white beanie that Zander made for me, gawd bless his cottons. Only after I tried to steal one of his other toques I'd taken a fancy to, but still. Please observe and admire his handiwork.

In other news, I went to the Employee of the Week dinner the other night. I've got (yet another) horrible virus** - swollen glands, achy muscles, fluctuating
temperature - which put a bit of a downer on it but I dosed myself up with ibuprofen and managed to last through the delicious buffet and until the chocolate fountain, which was pretty good going I thought. When a couple of the managers got up to talk about each of the winners in turn and started going on about some girl who had done amazing things and gone out of her way to make the guests happy, it took me quite some time to realise they were talking about me! I got a trail sign with my name on it and a really lovely turquoise mohair cardigan as a prize. Then I hitched a lift with one of our big bosses back into town to collapse into bed, leaving the others to take advantage of my free drinks...

*see what I did there?

**what is it about this bloody country that makes me ill all the time?

Glowing...

Firstly a quick reminder that Sam Jackson's Secret Video Diary is now available for download here. Pay as much or as little as you like, and while you're about it, you can download Beyond Fiction, the documentary about the making of the mockumentary. As you are all my friends/family/aquaintances/randoms who read my blog I'm sure you want to support me and my friends by doing so! Thank you very much.

Secondly - and I can't believe it's taken me a week to tell you guys about this, given my natural urge to show off at any opportunity - but I have been voted Employee of the Week (Inside Category) here at Sunshine. Not bad for my first month, eh?! It stemmed from an incident involving two Senior Alpine Ski Clubbers who left their skis near our ticket windows and I found them and took them back to their hotel for them, so they could ski at another ski hill the following day. They were very grateful and I got a $10 tip! I'm not exactly sure who put nominations in the Employee of the Month box on my behalf (although I know one of them was Zander, who I roped in under duress to help me carry them to the hotel). Apparently they have a committee of Supervisors who take all the nominations throughout Sunshine (approx. 800 employees), as well as all the comments that come into our website, and vote on who they think deserves the title. Then the winners (there are several categories, Inside, Outside, Behind the Scenes etc.) get invited to a swanky dinner prepared by our head chef (apparently it's amazing food) and prizes, which consists (I think) of a trail sign with our name on it. Can't wait for the dinner, which is on Jan 4th - will post pictures natch.

Sick talk

Hanging out with teenagers and other young whippersnappers tends to have an effect on your outlook, social habits and, significantly, the language you use. However, you have to bear in mind that there are some phrases that you can really only get away with if you're 19, or Australian. Whilst I'm perfectly comfortable discussing the merits of 'shredding the gnar', 'stacking it' and shouting 'hell yeah!' every time someone asks me a question, the correct use of the word 'sick' still escapes me; it just sounds perfectly ridiculous in my little Surrey accent and actually manages to make me feel twice as old as I already am. Yesterday I went shopping with my flatmates (Boxing Day sales - I bought tons in Gap naturally) and when one of them came over to me wearing a black hoodie with skull motif he was thinking of buying, I tried it out by saying 'Man that's fully sick!', but then totally ruined the effect by following it up with '...and I mean that in a good way'.

My friends just suggested if I get a gangsta hoodie, wear a baseball cap and tone down the accent and I'll totally pull it off. I'm dubious.

O Come All Ye Beaver

Christmas Day began at 06.30 (okay, okay, I realise it actually begun at 00.00, but humour me) when I dragged my sorry arse out of bed to skype with the family back home, who were opening presents at Jenny's. I was amazed to discover the present I'd sent Liddi only just over a week before had made it back to England in time for Christmas - must be a bloody record for the Canadian post! Nice to speak to everyone back home. Back at the Beaver, despite the early hour, Christmas songs were being played loudly and much singing was to be heard. I was slipping into my red one-piece, which Kate had bought in a rummage sale, and with which I had fallen in love, both for it's retro-styley and its festive connotations. Laura, Kate, Ed & I took the early bus to Sunshine and more Carols were sung, enthusiasm as standard, in the gondola up to the village.

Ed & I had the breakfast buffet then joined Kate & Laura on the slopes, though somehow we managed to misplace Ed immediately and not see hide nor hair of him again till we got home. Expecting that, after over 2 weeks off, it would take me a bit of time to find my ski-legs, so I did my first run by myself to avoid embarrassment. On doing so, I discovered that Santa had somehow given me the ability to ski fast and without fear in my Christmas stocking! I bombed down and joined the girls, brimming with confidence. A few runs later, we found ourselves looking at a black run as we soared above it on the chair lift and decided, perhaps somewhat rashly, that it really didn't look too bad... We nailed it! Well, kinda. I did face-plant fairly hard on a giant mogul I didn't see coming and lay there for several minutes wondering if I did still have all my teeth (I did), but we all got down in one piece and had a ball doing so, which is, after all, the whole point.

In the afternoon, after picking up my newly commissioned trail sign, hilarously emblazoned with the moniker 'Massive Beaver', Laura & I headed back down in the gondola to get a head start on Christmas dinner. On the way down we passed a gondola operator sat in her little booth which had a sign in the window saying 'Christmas waves please!' Naturally Laura & I obliged enthusiastically and I then decided to hold my trail sign up to the window to try to get a laugh. I picked up the sign...and whacked Laura straight in the face with it. As I shouted 'Omigod I'm so sorry, I hit you in the face with my massive beaver!' we collapsed and laughed so hard that by the time we reached the bottom station, we could barely exit the gondola. Practically crawling and gasping for breath, I tried to explain to the gondola operator who was removing Laura's skis why we were laughing but just couldn't get the words out. He looked at me strangely and merely said 'Please exit to your left', leaving Laura & I in more fits.

Arrived back home to prepare food. My banoffi pie and my lime & ginger cheesecake had been made the previous evening but we still had 2 stuffed turkey breasts and a huge joint of beef to be cooked, yorkshire pudding to make, cauliflower cheese to prepare, potatoes to peel, parboil and roast, vegetables to steam and gravy to make. Phew! However, with a little help from my friends, we got it all done and proceeded to eat ourselves into a stupor, whilst watching A Muppets' Christmas Carol. The Secret Santa followed - my present was a floating penis bath plug (how did they know?) - and we all played with our new toys for a bit. My puddings went down a treat as usual (not wishing to blow my own trumpet of course*) and by 11pm, we were all falling asleep in post-gastronomic bliss, not a crumb of food left. So much for my Boxing Day bubble & squeak plans, but the whole day was so awesome; I'm certainly not complaining...

Full photos here.

*Toot toot!

T-6

So the big countdown commences. Not to Christmas (though that's coming up at some point too, or so I'm led to believe). No, the countdown to the big release of Sam Jackson's Secret Video Diary. This was the last film I made with some friends of mine and if you don't remember me telling you the story behind the film being made, I suggest you check out the website (particularly 'The True Story' page) for the whole strange tale. The director Guy Ritchie - oops sorry Rowland - is writing a blog about the release (he's reality media-crazy!) so you can check that out here.

On Friday 28th December, the film, alongside a documentary detailing the back story, will be available for download from the website in a pay-as-much-as-you-like-Radiohead-styley (who's fabulous High & Dry is featured on the soundtrack). It is the first film to ever be released in this way! Yay us! Please download it (should only take around 15 mins on a good connection) and if you like it, do make a donation, as 20% of the proceeds will go to Leukaemia Research and Missing Persons charities respectively.

Finally, Guy will be talking about the film and the historic release on Radio 5 Live at about 07.55 on launch day, Friday 28th December. You can listen live or Listen Again, as is your wont!

Go on, you know you want to.

God Hates The World...apparently

Wow. I don't know about you, but I find this absolutely fascinating to watch, because I find it amazing that people will believe almost anything given the right amount of brainwashing. Make sure you watch the last 20 seconds for a perfect example of what I mean...


http://view.break.com/278059 - Watch more free videos

Sir has a firm touch, but very fair...

If anyone is still wondering what to get me for Christmas*, this is pretty much my ideal gift. What a way to wake up. *sigh*

*I do know no one is actually buying me a present and that's fine because I'm a long way away and I can't afford to buy anyone anything either.

Christmas Beaver

Errmmm... it appears to be the 17th December. That's just over a week till Christmas. How the hell did that happen? Despite the snow and twinkly lights, it's very easy to miss that it's Christmas here, what with us all just working and skiing/snowboarding all the time, though to give her credit where it's due, Laura has done a sterling job of trying to Christmasfy the Beaver with the fake tree and decorations we found behind the sofa. Zander & I spent the other day at work desperately trying to find out if we could buy an actual beaver to roast for Christmas dinner, but sadly it seems it's not going to be possible. Still, we had a whole day of 'eating beaver' jokes, which was some comfort at least*. I found some great recipes for beaver stuffed with pork***.

I'm supposed to have done some online Christmas shopping for home, which I thought I had plenty of time to do, but it seems I don't. I just ordered 2 presents for my nephews, thinking I had got in under the Xmas deadline, but it seems in my confirmation email that I haven't. Darn it. Sorry boys. Have sent Liddi (my niece) something from here but knowing the Canadian post, it won't arrive until around February, so better get something else sorted too. Oh and I've got a Secret Santa, which the Aussies apparently call a Kris Kringle by the way, to buy for the Beaver Massive.

I probably ought to stop sitting around and actually get on with it then!

*The thing I love about living on Beaver** is that beaver jokes only ever get funnier the more you tell them
**See?
***Oh stop it, you're killing me!

Bad/good

Been really pissed off for the last week or so as the injury I referred to in my last ski-based post, which caused me to fall over whenever I turned, has been getting progressively worse and I've been unable to ski since then. It's basically the ligament just to the back of my left knee that I've managed to strain, and even walking has been very painful. Today it began to feel a bit better...until I had to run for the bus this afternoon and it throbbed all the way home. So I'm trying to give it time to recover before I get back on the slopes, which has been enormously frustrating, as I'm desperate to keep practising. Still. Got to be sensible.

On a more positive note, a few days ago, about 15 mins before I left work, I got a call from a hotel in Banff where a Senior's Alpine Ski Club were staying. They'd been to Sunshine and two of the women had left their skis and poles outside our ticket windows. I popped out and found them and, after several confused conversations about how we could return them to the women (who were off to a different ski hill the following day), I decided to take them back there myself, as it wasn't too far from where I live in Banff. I roped Zander in to help me cart them back and handed them into the hotel reception. Job's a good 'un. Today, Sheila, one of the women, called my work to thank me and to ask where she could send me a 'tip'! I protested feebly before giving her my address and we wished each other a Merry Christmas. How sweet.

Stampeding to Calgary

Chris, Amy, Gravy & I hired a car today, getting a sweet deal from our housemate Kevin who works for Budget, and road tripped over to Calgary to buy...well, loads of stuff to be honest. Living in a resort town don't come cheap, so you need the big city to get essentials at a reasonable price. Our first stop was Wal-Mart, where I bought a few grocery items - cornflakes were 2 bucks cheaper than Safeways in Banff for example - and some jersey sheets. Mmmm. As I may have mentioned before, once you've slept on jersey, you never go back.

We headed off to have lunch with some friends of Gravy's and arrived about 10 minutes before them. Lethal. Next door to the restaurant was the Ski Cellar, a mecca for my new obsession with ski wear. 10 minutes later a new pair of ski pants in bright green were mine, for a bargain price...compared to how much they were to begin with, that was. Believe me, you don't want to know. But I live in a ski resort and when I'm not working, I'm skiing, so I think I can justify the investment*.

However, our main task of the day was to go to Ikea, where I intended to buy a duvet. In Canada, people use flat sheets under something called a 'comforter', which is basically a thin synthetic duvet with a fixed and often lurid cover, with possibly a blanket over the top. It's bloody rubbish. Firstly, it's not warm enough, particularly for a winter where temperatures can go down to -30. Secondly, as anyone who is old enough to remember England before duvets became the norm, you invariably wake up with the sheet squished over onto once side, the comforter over to the other, and the rough woollen blanket fallen off the bottom of the bed. Thirdly, thin synthetic duvets do not cover you properly, they just lie over the top of you and create cold gaps either side of you. Last night I was freezing all night so today I practically ran round Ikea in order to buy myself a lovely down duvet.

Naturally they didn't have the cheap one I wanted, nor did they have the slightly more expensive one in the size I wanted, so I ended up spending $72 on a king size, but still, 36 quid for the pleasure of being warm and comfortable at night for the next 5 months is a bargain if you ask me. I had planned to buy a cheap duvet cover - they had a rather unpleasant yellow circley designed one at $12.99 - but spotted a jersey duvet cover in green, which I was naturally unable to resist, despite it being a fair bit more expensive. I also bought a couple of packs of twinkly lights, one red, one green, to put round my windows to make it a little more festive. I hope you like the effect. My room rocks.

After Ikea we went to the Chinook Centre, a big shopping mall, where we planned to go to the IMAX cinema to see Beowulf in 3D. We bought our tickets before browsing round the shops, and returned to discover that, irritatingly in the extreme, they had sold us tickets to the wrong showing. The IMAX 3D version had started half an hour before, and we had tickets to the regular version. The boys were devastated to miss the opportunity to see Angelina Jolie's gold nipples side-swiping their faces, naturally.

The film was purest comedy gold. I'm fairly sure it wasn't supposed to be a comedy, but we laughed our arses off all the way through it. If it wasn't for Ray Winstone's East London accent saying "I'm Beowulf, and I've come to kill your monstaaaahhh", or Beowulf's penchant for removing all his clothes before he fought said monstaaaahhh, necessitating a whole 10 minute sequence where something was always placed strategically in front of his - ahem - tackle, it was Angelina Jolie performing a particular act upon a sword with an inevitable, slightly messy, and surprisingly graphic conclusion. Well worth seeing: 9 out of 10 for comedy value, though only 2 out of 10 for achieving the original aim. My private theory however, particularly given the abundance of British actors in the film, is that they decided to see how utterly ridiculous they could make the film, and still get the Americans to buy into it completely.

Oh, just a quick update before I publish this: I slept last night on my jersey sheets/duvet combo and it was purest heaven.

*I'm doing a good job of justifying this to myself, aren't I?

Shredding the gnar

Whenever the boys go snowboarding, they tell us they're going to 'shred the gnar'. Well, today, Amy & I may not have shredded the gnar, but we certainly agitated it a little. Kicked it around a bit with our toes, as it were. We stuck mainly to green runs but did go up Lookout Mountain on the Continental Divide lift (which crosses into British Columbia and back to Alberta on the journey!) and discovered there were only blue runs, so we did that too. Unfortunately when I stacked it on Angel the other day I hurt my leg, which had been fine during the easy runs, but when I was trying to carve sharply across the run to control my speed on the steep downhill, I found it became really painful and ended up giving way on several occasions. Annoying, because I actually felt up to the task in other respects. Anyway, good runs: good funs, or something like that. And would you look at the views?

Xmas nut run

Forgive me, but I'm a leeeeetle bit drunk. It was the staff Christmas party up on the hill tonight and, though it wasn't exactly brilliant, I felt in the mood for a drink or two. I've actually had 4 gin and tonics, but I'm fairly sure they were all watered down because I should be far drunker on 4 gins than I am. Anyway, that aside.

My supervisor, Pat, decided at some point in the evening that he might fancy doing a 'nut run'. This involved him running naked, in only his shoes and visor, from the Daylodge (where the party was held), to the gondola station, to Trappers (the pub on the hill) and back to the Daylodge, around a 3 minute round trip, which in -20 degrees probably seems longer than that. He was slightly concerned he might end up fired over it, so his friends collected pledges for the nut run all night and finally, when Pat had accumulated over $100 and the last gondola down the hill was approaching, he decided to go for it. He did the run and raced back to the Daylodge, only to find to his horror that the first person he ran into as he entered the Daylodge, stark bollock naked, was Ralph Scurfield, our CEO. Ralph handed him a $20 note, saying "Good effort son".

Priceless.

Feeling blue

Although I had planned to make it up the hill again yesterday to try to conquer my powder demons, when my alarm went off at 6am and I tried to get out of bed, it quickly became apparent that my limbs were not playing ball. So I went back to sleep for a bit and spent the day dragging my heavy legs and aching muscles - many of which I was previously unaware I even possessed - around the place.

Today, however, I was not letting sore legs dictate the day. After a morning's work, which as usual passed by in the blink of an eye, I had the afternoon off and, after a quick bite to eat, headed up the hill with my ski gear to meet up with Toby, an English ski instructor I met last night who had offered - the fool! - to give me a few pointers. We started off going up the Strawberry lift and going down a run I was very familiar with, the Dell Valley. However, my confidence had been knocked by my inability to stay upright for more than 2 minutes the other day, my legs had forgotten how to behave on skis, the run was icy and the visibility at the top fairly poor, so although I managed to get to the bottom relatively unscathed, it hardly gave Toby a good impression of my abilities. I let him take the lead and we headed up Wawa lift for the next run. We did some exercises designed to improve my turning technique and gave the green run a go. It went fairly well, a few bails here and there but nothing dramatic, and as we headed up the lift a second time, he told me he was going to take me down a blue run next. "Erm...if you think that's okay?" I ventured, "I mean, what do blue runs have that green runs don't? Topless dancers, late night poker, that sort of thing?" "Well, you might find the odd bit of barbed wire, assorted booby traps and some land mines, but nothing you can't handle" Toby assured me.

I would love to tell you, gentle reader, that I stormed the blue run with grace and aplomb. But in reality, though I started well, I stacked it on practically every turn - into nice soft powder thankfully - when it got all mogely (bumpy) and very steep. However, I got down it in one piece, learnt a ton about turning on the way down, and we did another blue run straight after, which was a bit (a bit) better. Toby had to run off so I went up and took the green run again by myself and lo! Suddenly it felt like a piece of the proverbial. Not one fall and I found myself actively looking to make up speed and take a more interesting line. Ha!

Of course, I'm not saying I'm suddenly a brilliant skier. But with a ton of practice, I finally feel I might just make it as a perfectly acceptable one by the end of the season. Life is good.

Living the life of a celebrity, on the wages of a pauper

Over here at Sunshine, working full-time, I'm earning somewhere in the region of £500 per month. My rent and utilities comes to around £250, so the rest goes on food, entertainment and any other essentials. Back home this would be virtually impossible, but here, it's perfectly achievable to live on minimum wage. For a start, not drinking alcohol saves me tons! Most places here I'll pay for one soft drink, around $3, then get free refills for the rest of the night. We often eat communally, which saves money, and on our days off we mainly go skiing/snowboarding, which is free for those of us working at Sunshine obviously. Snow gear - jackets, thermals, boots etc. - is our main expense, because the good stuff does cost serious money, but once you're geared up, as I now am, you're done.

Yesterday was my day off and I had planned with a friend, Aaron, to go for a ski lesson. However, due to a car accident on the approach to the ski hill, the bus was late and I missed the start of the lesson, so we decided to just go up and do our own thing. Aaron has been boarding for years but has only skied twice before, so was happy to come on green runs with me. We'd had a ton of snow over night and it was still snowing heavily - puking snow as they say over here - so it was a 'powder day'.

I'd never skied in powder - having only skied twice before of course! - and soon discovered it was both a blessing and a curse. It was monstrously difficult to stay upright and nigh on impossible to turn when you were up to your knees in light, fluffy snow, unable to even see where your skis were. If you slowed or stopped, the effort involved in just lifting your feet up to get on top of the snow again was monstrous and soon my legs were like jelly. However, if you got a good downhill run going, you could bomb down with relative confidence, because if you did fall your landing was as soft as snot (as my mother would say). I literally stacked it every couple of minutes and sometimes the temptation to just lie there in the comfortable snow and to catch your breath for a bit was overwhelming. On one occasion I did a huge bail face first into a ton of snow, which was apparently hilarious to see and the story has already done the rounds. I managed to drag myself up and looked around to see where my left ski, which had come off, was. It was nowhere to be found. Eventually, after poking randomly around with my pole, I found it about 4 feet away and completely hidden 2 feet under the snow. I tried to get it back on but everytime I tried to clip my boot into the bindings it sank again without a trace. A full ten minutes later, I was finally ready to head back off down the run, where Aaron and another friend Amy were waiting patiently for me.

Eventually I went to have lunch and bumped into Chris, Gravy & Zander, who were having an awesome day boarding down black runs. It certainly seems to me that snowboards have a slightly easier time of it in the deep powder due, presumably, to their width. I did one more run after lunch before deciding that my legs just wouldn't take it anymore, so I popped off to the Sunshine Inn hotel (right on the ski hill) to take advantage of the huge outdoor hot tub, where the boys and Amy joined me.

It was snowing heavily and was fairly mild by then, around -5, compared to the -25 we'd had in previous days. We ordered drinks (me a coke, the boys a pitcher of beer) and sank down to relieve our aching limbs. Pretty soon we were so warm that the idea of stepping out into the snow in our swimmers was rather inviting and so the boys went first, rubbing themselves down with snow before jumping back into the hot tub, which gave you a pleasant, all over tingling/pins & needles sensation for around five minutes afterwards. Just next to us was a gate which led out onto one of the ski runs, so the boys then decided to try lying down in the snow, face first initially:

then onto their backs:

I was reluctant at first to try it, what with my pathetic circulation an' all, but soon got swept up in the excitement and sure enough, soon discovered that lying in the snow in a bikini was an enormously exhilarating experience, and the resultant tingling well worth it:

As we sat in the hot tub, drinking beer/coke, watching skiers and snowboarders whiz past us, reflecting on our day, we couldn't stop telling each other how amazing our lives were at the moment. We are enormously lucky to be here, in an incredible place, with fantastic people, doing things we love. We truly are living the dream, and we're determined not to take even one second of it for granted.

It's a numbers game

27. Sounds so innocent, doesn't it? But it sends shivers down my spine, because the number 27 follows me everywhere. Consider the evidence:

• I was born on 27th June (put it in your diaries people)
• I grew up at 27 Ingrams Close
• My staff number when I was temping contained 27
• My staff number at Queen Charlotte's contained 27
• My staff number here at Sunshine Village contains 27
• My ski locker here at Sunshine, to which I was randomly allocated, is number 27
  
• My flat in Weybridge is number 72 (stretching it slightly?)
• 27 was by far my favourite age (stretching it quite a lot?)

Now the most scary one:

• When we went to bingo the other night, of the six boards I selected totally at random, all six of them contained the number 27.

What can it all mean?

How cool?

As you may already be aware, one of the things I was most concerned about when I knew I was making the trip over here to Canada was the weather. As someone with pathetically poor circulation, who therefore doesn't fair well in cold temperatures, I had no idea what really cold (i.e. sub -10c) felt like or how I would cope with it. Well, as it's been knocking around the -15 to -25 mark for the past couple of days, I'd like to share with you the things I've learnt.

I believe it was Billy Connelly who first said that there is no such thing as bad weather, just inappropriate clothing. How true. My thermals, multiple layers of clothes, goose down coat, insulated boots, ski mittens, scarves and array of toques (woolly hats, to those back home) work a bloody treat and despite the well-below-freezing temperatures, I usually find myself toasty warm. In fact, I can usually only really feel how cold it is on my face, which then necessitates pulling my scarf up over my mouth and nose; Kate & I ably demonstrated this technique only this evening, and though admittedly we did look like we were about to pull a bank job, so did every other person on the street. To my utmost surprise, I rarely 'lose' my fingers (my term for when the Reynaud's kicks in) as long as I'm wearing my mittens, which are far far superior to gloves by the way, though if you have to remove them for any reason it's amazing how quickly you realise how bloody cold it is without them.

That said, my body temperature must have adjusted considerably in recent weeks. This afternoon, I popped out of the guest services building to pick up a bottle of 7up. I was dressed in my uniform, which consists of a thin quarter-zip top, under a sort-of fleece jacket, which I had unzipped. As I got outside, I thought to myself, oh, it's not too cold actually, and so I ambled over to buy my drink, only noticing as I made my leisurely way back on the thermometer outside the ticket windows that it was, in fact, -19c. Now, once upon a time in the very recent past, I would have been terrified at the thought of temperatures as low as that. I would have assumed that I would have turned into a popsicle within seconds. But in fact I now know that it's really not that bad and more importantly, I can cope with it. And thank goodness for that, given that it's not likely to get much warmer in the foreseeable future...

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.