Last night of Beaver

Done.

Feels strange to be leaving the Beaver, but I suppose it isn't really the Beaver anymore. We have so many new housemates - who are alright but do some very annoying things like moving our stuff, throwing our stuff away, blocking up the kitchen sink with rice and playing Christian power ballads loudly at 7.30am outside my bedroom - that the good old days of the Beaver, a place where everybody knows your name, seems long gone.

Even Starla is stripped bare and has been returned to the gimp hole. I bet she'll be thinking of the good times - when she was dressed up in outlandish outfits and repeatedly groped - too.

We're going out tonight to the Elk & Oarsman, because it will be the last time I'll see Gravy & Zander (who are also moving out today). Then, in the grand tradition of things, we'll head off to a bar and I'll watch them all get rat-arsed while I sit back and treasure the memories.

[quick update: just had my inspection done, which determines whether I get my damage deposit back. My bedroom floor was 'dusty' apparently (even though I had both swept and mopped it, but I made a point of doing it again while she was there to show the pitifully small amount of 'dust' I managed to pick up) and there was also some 'dust' under the television in the lounge. They're coming back tomorrow to check this has been cleaned. I'm being charged for the repair done to the shower screen - despite it having been damaged since before I moved in - which amounts to the cost of the parts replaced by our landlord himself: 2 tiny track rollers and some sealant. Divided, presumably, between all four of us living here. If it comes to more than a couple of dollars I swear I'm taking a brick to their window. They also considering charging me for the cost of repairs to the small lavatory (that had been leaking) which I don't use. I should know in 10 days how much I'm getting back. Great.]

Irrational behaviour

I'm pretty much done with my packing and have confirmed something I already knew about myself: I am shockingly bad at throwing stuff away. No, seriously. I've packed both my big suitcase and my little one too, for taking on my travels over the next month. Full to the brim and, given the absence of scales in this house, I can only pray I'm not over on the weight limit. I've got a bag full of ski clothes to leave at Megan's house (she doesn't know that yet, so I hope she doesn't mind) as well as 2 ski bags: my skis, poles, boots, snowboard & snowboard boots in one and Megan's skis and poles that I borrowed before I had my own in the other. I also have another set of skis which I intended to sell, but there's no point in doing it right now, better to wait until the start of next season. Again, I hope Megan doesn't mind. Thank goodness she has a basement. I also have a set of 3 boxes filled with general gumph - twinkly lights, books, DVDs, that Jagermeister bottle, that sort of thing - that I want to keep hold of for when I come back to live in Banff for the summer. On top of this, I've given a huge IKEA bag full of clothes to Rory, who lives downstairs, to keep hold of for when I return to Banff and another huge bag to Chelsea containing my cold weather boots and...well that's the thing. I can't even remember what else it's got in it, and I only packed it an hour ago. What is wrong with me? I should be able to choose the things I really need and throw away the rest. I'm going to have to do it at some point, because I can't take it all back to England with me. I have even put together a bag of stuff I really don't want anymore, which contains about, ooh, four things. Pathetic. Christ knows what Pepe is going to think when he turns up on Sunday and I can't fit everything into his car - I can only hope he's done a better job than me of consolidating his possessions.

My only (slight) justification is that the extremes of temperature here in Canada mean I've accumulated a ton of stuff appropriate for very cold weather/skiing that I just don't need now it's warm and sunny, but that I don't want to throw away because if I come back for the winter I'll need it all again. But realistically, I'm just a hoarder. I know I am. I'm terrified that if I throw away that hoodie, for example, that that is EXACTLY the hoodie I'll need, desperately, next week. I know it's irrational, but it's true.

Sigh. I really am rubbish.

Packing up again

This is what happens when you try to sort out 8 months worth of accumulated crap into 2 suitcases. It just ain't gonna happen. I'm having to develop 4 main categories: stuff to chuck, stuff to keep hold for when I come back to Banff for the summer, ski and snowboard stuff that I won't need till next winter (and only then if I stay here to work - not much use for it in England) and stuff to pack into suitcases to take with me to Edmonton/Ontario/Calgary over the next month. My 'stuff to chuck' pile is far smaller than it ought to be, because I can't bear to let anything go. I mean, I'm even keeping hold of a small empty bottle of Jagermeister, even though it wasn't ever mine because I don't drink Jagermeister, just because it's small and therefore cute. Damn me.

My room gets inspected at 6.30pm tomorrow evening by the landlords (to see how much of my damage deposit they can screw out of me, the bastards - they have previous on this so I'm not just being paranoid) and so it needs to be done by then. I leave for Megan & Craig's Sunday with Pepe, who is a French Canadian friend who needs to get to Edmonton and who has a car but no licence - as luck would have it, I have a licence but no car!

Okay, procrastinating over, back to the grindstone.

Cruise, marry, shag

You know how, when you discover something new and exciting you get a bit obsessed with it? Okay, I'll rephrase that. You know how when I discover something new and exciting I get a bit obsessed with it? Well, I've just discovered Gavin and Stacey. I say 'just' because I only watched the first episode the night before last and I say 'discovered' because somehow when the first series was on it totally passed me by. Probably because I was going around packing up my flat and being homeless and so on around that time. Nevertheless, having watched and loved the first episode, I've just spent the last 2 days catching up with both series - thank GOD for iTunes - and laughing so hard I'm fairly sure my housemates think I'm clinically insane. I've also downloaded a whole bunch of music from the fabulous soundtrack and have put together my own G&S playlist. Now of course I want to quote it insufferably, though as no one out here has seen it, I'd just get blank looks all round, so I'll just have to keep it to myself. I'll try at least. No, I can't. I really can't. I have to let just one out.

I won't lie to you, it's tidy.

Reds are green

Hahaha. I just went to see Indiana Jones & The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, which is a frankly ludicrous film, but entertaining nonetheless. However, on my return I noticed on the BBC website that the members of the Russian communist party are calling for it to be banned on the basis that it "distorts history". They said that teenagers watching it would be "completely unaware of what happened in 1957" (when the film is set) and that "[events in the film are] rubbish... In 1957 the communists did not run with crystal skulls throughout the US."

Now I'm fairly sure that the Russians have a point here and that communists did not run with crystal skulls throughout the US (or indeed throughout Peru, which is where the running with crystal skulls actually takes place in the film). I'm also pretty sure that a bunch of Hobbits never walked all the way to Mordor to throw a magical ring back in to the fires of Mount Doom, that Michael J Fox never went back into the past and then back again to the future in a De Lorean and I'm pretty damn sure a giant ape never climbed the Empire State building, but it doesn't mean we haven't enjoyed watching films about such events in the name of entertainment over the years.

In the words of Boney M: '"Oh those Russians".

Ride 'em cowboy!

Just a quickie to say both Chelsea & I got offered jobs at the Stampede as bussers (people who seat customers, chat to them, then clear up when they go) in the Budweiser tent, which was not quite what we wanted, but all the bartending & serving jobs had gone already, despite it only being the second day of 2 weeks of interviews! We've accepted them - there will be some tips though not the big bucks we were hoping for - but I'm also pursuing an alternative avenue of bartending jobs through a friend of some guy I met on the bus back from Sunshine a few days ago. Hey, you gotta try everything, right? But if that doesn't come off, we'll go with what we have. Incidentally, and much to my amusement, my job offer sheet actually says 'Position: Bus'. I do hope this doesn't mean I have to offer free rides...

In other news I've just finished A Spot of Bother (the new book by Mark Haddon, author of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time) which was absolutely superb and I heartily recommend it. Brilliant characterisation - the best written child I've ever read - great story, pin sharp observations and hilarious to boot. Utterly unputdownable, if such a word exists, which, if not, it should. It made me feel terribly nostalgic for home, because it's so very, very English, and as such, so dry I would have to advise you not to smoke around it.

The end and the beginning

The Slush Cup at Sunshine traditionally signals the end of the season and provides the opportunity for an enormous piss-up, for both staff and guests. This year was no exception.

I hadn't quite got my head around exactly what the Slush Cup was. I knew it was a bunch of competitors, who were dressed up in weird & wonderful ways, skiing down a hill towards a pool of water in the hopes of getting across it in an upright position. What I hadn't worked out was how big the run up was, how big the pool was and how wet I'd get sitting next to it. It was great, and I had enormous fun, but wished I'd remembered Susan's advice to bring a spare pair of shoes and socks. Frozen tootsies aside, the party afterwards with the hog roast and the fire in the car park was awesome.

Good thing I don't drink, of course, because I had a job interview this morning for Canadian Mountain Holidays. After an hour of chatting about everything from midwifery to mechanical engineering over a nice cup of coffee, I was offered the job as Summer Exchange Co-ordinator, which is basically the person who gets guests and their luggage onto the bus in Banff, rides with them to the heli-pad and sees them off for their heli-hiking excursions. Then I will gather up the group of weary travellers who are arriving back from their trip, and bus them back to Banff, all the while on-hand to provide useful titbits of information about the Rockies and their inhabitants. Not difficult, but takes a certain kind of chatty, organised person*. Of course the fact that this is also the same company who does heli-skiing, and that they have already said that opportunities to work with the company over winter may well arise, has little to do with how excited I am about my new job; oh no, I was swayed by the fact that during the bus journeys I can eat as many muffins as I want. Read it and weep. I start as soon as I finish working the Calgary Stampede, assuming tomorrow's job interview goes well of course. As always, gentle reader, I'll let you know.

Slush Cup photos here.

*i.e. me

Those darn teenagers, eh?

Just had a guest in to buy tickets who, during the course of our transaction, discovered I was English. He obviously wanted to show off his impressive knowledge of our slang terms, so told me that he had told his daughter, who had come skiing the previous day, to use sunscreen, but she had refused. "So now she's at home wanking about her blistered nose..."

I managed to prevent myself laughing in his face but when he followed up with "But that's 13 year olds for you, isn't it?" I really couldn't help myself.

To infinity...and beyond!

I have new hair. I'm quite pleased with it, and it wasn't extortionately expensive either (though not cheap either, when you're on the kind of money I earn out here). It had got ridiculously long (not been cut since last August) but quite straggly with it, and two-tone (not the record label) since it hadn't been highlighted for nearly a year. So now at least I feel like I have a bit more of a hairdo, if you know what I mean.

Sunshine closes on Monday. So only one more weekend of work - officially I'm off on Monday but I'm going in to work for a couple of hours before going up the hill to watch the Slush Cup, which I understand is unmissable. People launching themselves across a big pool of water on skis, dressed as farmyard animals and the like, that sort of thing. Then, at the end of the day when the guests go home, the staff have a big party with several spit roast pigs. Sounds excellent.

And what next? Well, my (somewhat tentative) plan for June is to visit Megan & Craig, before heading to Ontario - possibly via Quebec to meet up with my friend Fiona who'll be there for a conference - to visit my cousin Tine who I haven't seen for donkeys' years, then up to see the very lovely Isaac, the delightful Jordan (both of whom worked at Sunshine, Isaac with me at Guest Services) and Isaac's wonderful parents* to spend my birthday 'mudding'. Can't wait.

Following this trip I will be heading back west. Chelsea & I have interviews next week for work at the Calgary Stampede (the greatest outdoor show on Earth!) which will be taking place for 10 days in July, so fingers crossed we get the jobs and make a bit of cashiola. Then to Vancouver Island for Megan & Craig's wedding at the end of July. And then....well I'm not sure yet. I have to leave when my visa runs out on September 4th but could do anything up till then. Suggestions on a postcard** please...

*His dad is called Emo. Seriously! How cool is that?!
**that means my comments box, obviously

Food for thought

Following on from the other evening, when JK & I sat and talked nearly all night about food we missed from back home (though he's now gone home and is probably eating it all, the lucky devil), here's a list of things I crave:

• Good, tasty, fresh bread. Almost all bread out here is largely tasteless, slightly sweet, with a strange, airy, spongy texture, which goes stale within a day. You can't even spread butter on sliced bread - even toasted! - without it crumbling. Oh for a Sainsbury's multigrain loaf or a decent baguette.
• Nice Brussels paté. Or a chicken liver parfait. Or duck liver paté with port. Or any decent paté to be honest.
• Decent strong cheddar. I've managed to find one at Safeways which isn't too bad (it tastes of something at least) and there's a deli here that does some really nice cheeses (including St Agur, which I just had for lunch), though it's criminally expensive. A wheel of Epoisse is $25! This is what passes for 'normal' cheese out here and it's revolting.
• Branston pickle. After years of not eating it because Cross & Blackwell was owned by Nestlé, when they sold it I was very happy I could re-indulge, particularly with a strong cheddar on Ryvita, but now I can't even buy it. I heard a rumour you could buy it in President's Choice supermarket but there's not one near here so what good is that to me?
• Cranberry & blackcurrant juice, which was my main tipple back home. Ocean Spray don't sell that particular combo out here, the closest is cranberry & grape which is foul. There's no really nice, easy to buy cartons of juice here - everything's sweetened to destruction - and though you can buy nice frozen concentrated orange juice*, it's a bit of a pain to mix and store it. Anyway, end result is I tend to buy and drink tons of easy-to-reach-for cans of Coke, which I hate doing as it makes me feel dirty. I can almost feel my cellulite getting worse with every sip.
• Curry. Indian food is not a big thing here, there's only one curry house in Banff, which is expensive, and the one time I ate there I was very disappointed. It all just tasted blah. Didn't even do nice poppadums, just the baked ones, and there was no lime pickle or raita in sight. I can buy and fry my own poppadums, which are very nice but takes up time, effort and mess, so is a bit of a pain when it's just you. But Kate & I used to have 'poppadum evenings', where we'd make up a huge stack of them and scoff the lot with yoghurt dip. Good days, good days.
• Gü chocolate soufflé. There's nowt like it.
• Chocolate digestives. They do sell them for $4 for a small packet in Canmore but I can't get there very often.
• Rachel's Organic Greek Style coconut yoghurt. Rich, thick, creamy, coconutty. What's not to love?
• Mozzarella. Now, you can buy mozzarella over here, but it's a hard, usually ready-grated cheese to put on pizzas, that bears no resemblance to a ball of soft, delicious buffalo mozza. Oh how I miss its creamy goodness.
• And for that matter, Parma ham. Not seen hide nor hair of the stuff.

That'll probably do for now, though there are inevitably many others that I can't bring to mind just now. There are things out here that I think are just as good if not better than back home - cupcakes for one - but they're few and far between. No wonder I'm actually losing weight at the moment.

*do you remember Waitrose used to sell this back in the day? I used to eat it like a sorbet. Yum.

They think it's all over...

Just when you thought it was safe to go back into the t-shirts... we woke up yesterday to several inches of snow. Only a few days ago I got sunburnt sitting out of the terrace having a BBQ (see left), wishing I'd brought some shorts to Canada with me; the Rockies have a tendency to do this sort of thing apparently. It continued 'puking snow', as they say over here, all day. This is known locally, incidentally, as a 'big dump' (with somewhat different connotations to those it might bring to mind back home). Today, however, the weather was warm and sunny, and it was fascinating to see how quickly it was all melting again, here in town at least. Walking* along past the shops, the snow melting at breakneck speed down from the roofs made it appear to be raining. Hard. Below are pictures of the morning and the afternoon outside the Beaver to illustrate my point.

Personally, although I've heard lots of people complaining about the winter conditions returning, in truth I love the snow. That is what Banff means to me, a snowy little mountain town, so even though the warm weather, and its concomitant benefits of not having to think about the adequacy of thermals, hats and coats all the time, has been most welcome, I still miss the snow. It makes everything beautiful, pure and exciting. I see a field of virgin snow and always want to run around** in it, or make snow angels.

So, taking my life into my own hands with crutches on icy pavements, I made my painfully slow way to the hospital this morning for a check up. It turns out my recovery is going very well indeed, they x-rayed me again and said the break was not really discernible now, hairline, if that, and that the reason it's still so painful is that I've torn my gastrocs muscle. I've been booked in for physio starting next week, have been advised to start trying to walk on it and wean myself off the cast (I have a removable sports cast). So all in all, recovery going well. Hurray!

*okay okay, hobbling
**yes yes, a girl can dream, can't she?

Not with a bang

Where the hell has this last week gone? Well, I can tell you actually. It's passed in a blur of hobbling around on crutches and painkillers, unable to weight bear, or carry anything, or shower (don't worry, I am still able to wash), or cook very easily, or go out anywhere without it being a major effort. I feel like I have called in every one of my favours from my friends and would rather stand and eat something at the work surface than have to ask one of my housemates to carry my food into the lounge again. I have gone back to work, for the 2 weeks remaining of the season, which is fine but frustrating whenever a guest asks me to do something that involves getting up from my seat. They see my crutches and feel guilty, and say it doesn't matter, and I say no it's fine and hobble off, but then feel guilty for making them feel guilty.

It doesn't help that most of my friends have now left Banff. Those of us who remain are growing smaller in number by the day and I feel very alone all of a sudden. Now Darrell's gone home (never to return incidentally) I don't really have anyone to hang out with, as all of those who remain already have - or have recently formed - partnerships of one form or another which occupies their time. I can't climb, so Chelsea has had to find alternatives to me to belay her. I can't ski, so I have the big, empty house, with its limited charms, to myself on days off while everyone else goes off to make the most of the snow whilst it remains. I can't bring myself to look through old photos at the moment, because I sometimes feel the almost palpable nostalgia for how great it all was such a short time ago will kill me. I could feasibly go out of an evening as long as it's nearby, or I could take a cab, but the opportunity has yet to arise. Days off are spent watching endless TV shows - thank God for iTunes BBC/C4 downloads - and trying to chat to far-flung friends on facebook, and the evenings differ little. If I weren't so goddamn gimpy, my seemingly limitless frustration would have me running for the mountains.

And so the season ends. Not with a bang, but with a whimper.

My Beaver is broken; I have a broken Beaver

Today Kate, Laura, Andrew & Sparkle all left the Beaver for pastures new. Kate is going back to the UK for a brief visit (to get her fill of Scottish men I'd wager) before heading home to Perth, Australia; Laura & Andrew are heading to Andrew's home of Newfoundland for a spot of Meet The Parents before also going to Australia to work as snowboard instructors for their winter; Sparkle is heading home to Bristol. We've had such a good crew here, we've all been so close, that it's hard to imagine that they're not going to step out of their rooms and watch Friends, South Park, Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares or Flight of the Conchords with us anymore. The Beaver, and Banff itself, will never be the same without them and the Queens of Beaver, as seen above, no longer rule as one.

To Kate: there has never been a better person to sit in the kitchen with at 6.30am and moan about how awful it is getting up at that time of the morning. I'm so glad we managed to get you in as our flatmate ("she's quite quiet, but she's very sweet when you get to know her") and want to thank you for being the best kisser in Banff. Wear the green top often and think of me.

To Laura: I'd never have ended up at the Beaver if I hadn't met you first on the way to Canada from Heathrow. You're the most rank* chick I know and I'm going to miss you and your surreal sense of humour hugely. You have always very kindly and enthusiastically laughed at my jokes and for that I'm extremely grateful.

To Andrew: your hugs might have made me cry but I loved every one of them. Thank you for your relaxed** way of always making me feel better about everything. Your testicles shall remain unsurpassed. I hope you get a bit more sodomy action now you're back in Newfoundland.

To Will, a.k.a. Sparkle Barbie Horse: you are quite simply one of the most amazingly talented and naturally funny people I've ever met. I'll never forget the night you found out just how old I was. Thank you so much for the lovely things you said to me then, on Australia Day and last night; they meant so much and right back atcha baby.




I'm missing you all so much already.





*Laura insists this is now a good thing
** or quite possibly stoned

Hardcore

And now, ladies and gentlemen, for your delight and pleasure, courtesy of my friend Isaac, here is a picture of me skiing out of the Dive on a broken leg:



If you look closely, you can actually see me gritting my teeth.

The agony and the ecstasy

Yesterday I finally achieved my last ambition of the season: to do the Dive. Delirium Dive is Sunshine's extreeeeeeme freeride terrain and I felt like I was the last person in the world - or at least among my circle of friends - to do it. Even Darrell did it a few days ago with some friends of mine while I was stuck at work and when Kate came in yesterday and mentioned she'd just done it, I knew I had to get up there asap. I was planning to do it today with Zander, but when Isaac offered to take me there yesterday afternoon I was determined to 'get her done', as we say out here.

In order to go to the Dive you have to go with a partner, be carrying an avalanche beacon (and know how to use it) as well as a probe and a shovel. I borrowed a friend's and we headed up at
2pm for our ride break. I got nervous as I reached the top - the drop in is ridiculously steep and you really don't want to fall there because you'd just keep going! Took me a while to get into the jump turns on the steeps but, with a bit of
side slipping thrown in, I was soon getting the hang of it. We were having a ball - it was so hot I even stopped midway to take half my clothes off and Isaac threw huge snowballs at our boss Casey, who'd joined us. Then, when we reached the relatively flat run out, we decided to gun it though the powder. Fatal error.

As I zipped through the still very deep but tracked out powder, I managed to catch an edge. I took a big tumble and felt my leg twist as I did so, though to my surprise my ski didn't release. I sat for a moment afterwards and realised my right calf was really rather painful, but assumed it was just muscle spasm. I got up and tried to ski down, it was hurting but if I put all my weight on my left foot and didn't turn much, I was able to get down to Casey & Isaac. The pain started getting worse, but I still had to get out of there, so I kept going with Isaac's help, doing the difficult bits on my bum or walking. When I got back to the piste I was able to straight line it down to the gondola station, which was very painful but what choice did I have? Got on the gondola, but by the time I got off, I was in agony. Still reluctant to acknowledge it could be anything other than muscle damage, I got back to Guest Services with Darrell's - who was waiting at the bottom for me - help (piggy
back!) and got changed. Went to walk back to the bus and realised that I couldn't walk. I asked Darrell to get ski patrol for me. Larry from ski patrol arrived promptly, did a few tests and said he thought it could be broken, so a wheelchair was obtained and I was wheeled to the infirmary to be splinted. I sat outside in the sun with Andrew, a fellow skier who had landed badly off a jump in the terrain park, waiting for my lift to the hospital (no ambulances here for us foreigners with no health care cover) and to cut a long story short, yes, the damn leg was broken. A classic skier's 'boot top fracture' of the fibula, in case you're interested.

I'm still in a lot of pain - back to the Percocets for me! - and unable to do a goddamn thing for myself, but can't say I'm devastated. I mean, I've managed to do everything this season I really wanted to do. I learnt to ski, I did my Level 1 ski instructor's course, I've had awesome road trips to Big Mountain, Fernie, Castle and Revelstoke. I had a go at snowboarding and even bought a board, despite not really liking it very much! And I finally did the Dive. There's only 3 weeks of the season left and yes, I won't be skiing, but I've had such an amazing season to date that I have to be damn grateful. And far better that I broke my leg doing the Dive than on some tame green run.

Darrell bought me a badge, which says: Delirium Dive: No Guts, No Glory. I couldn't agree more.

BBC in sense of humour shocker

Has anyone else noticed that when you play the new, embedded videos on the BBC website, the volume scale goes up to 11?

Revelling in it

So our trip to Revelstoke can only be described as a huge success. We got off to a good start when, on our journey there through an area called Beaver Valley, I glanced out of the passenger window only to see a huge black bear wandering along at the bottom of the hill to our left. We all leapt out of the car (it was a fair way away from us I should point out) just in time to see it disappear into the woods. My first bear! The drive that we thought would take us around four and a half hours, in fact only took just over three, and our motel, the Super8 was clean and pleasant, with the additional bonus of a hot tub and swimming pool. So far so good.

So when we first arrived at the resort and saw the dirt showing through the snow at the bottom and the driving rain we were crushed. Why did we come this late in the season when it was clearly going to be rubbish? We rode the gondola up with a certain amount of reluctance. We'll just get through a day here and we can always head home tomorrow if it's rubbish, was our thinking. We didn't, of course, bank on the 18cms of new powder at the top, our pick of fresh tracks through the trees and a skier count of around 25. Within minutes we found ourselves whooping and hollering our way down the super steep runs, trying our best to avoid hitting trees (Darrell almost succeeded) and had a blast. Kate & I got some more footage for the skiing/snowboarding video we're making, '40 Fanny Stacks'. The lunch was awesome - some of the best pasta I've had in ages (farfalle with creamy pesto, prawns, spinach and red peppers. Yum). We sang Mr. Big's 'Next To Be With You' and Flight of the Conchord's 'It's Business Time' incessantly. On day 2 Darrell & I decided to hire some powder skis just to see if they worked better in the Revie conditions and, though Darrell got on well with his Head Monsters, my Head Sweet Fat Thangs were horrible. They were heavy and reluctant to turn, so I took them back after 3 runs and got my own sweet Bandits back and it confirmed to me how much I love them! Sometimes I feel like they're not even skis anymore, they're merely an extension of my feet. And what big feet I have.

A few days and much story-telling to those who were unable to make it later, and plans were made for a second Revie trip leaving the following Sunday. Amy, Chris, Gravy, Zander and Mr Ed were added to the original Revie trip veterans of Darrell, Chelsea & myself, 2 more cars hired, rooms back at the Super8 booked and off we went again. A hilarious journey there featured 2 walkie-talkies, much
Corona/Skittlebrau* imbibed**, mooning at slow drivers (and each other***), Russian roulette with the Hoosiers (don't ask), 2 restaurants refusing to let us in (both claiming to have 'run out of food') and Darrell taking the longest wee ever at the side of the road. Revie had lost more snow from the bottom and had less at the top, but we still had a ball bombing down the steeps before heading back home that night. Top time had by all. Again. See all the debauchery here.

*In the absence of an actual lime, lime skittles were popped into the bottles of Corona producing a foul green concoction
**though not, obviously, by Zander or myself who were driving the respective vehicles
***Prompting Darrell's classic first words to Amy to be "I met your arse before I met you!"

Fucking devastated.



Will update my blog about recent events when I'm feeling strong enough.

Chicks dig skills

I realise I've been a bit quiet recently, because Darrell has arrived and it's been all go over here at the Beaver. Last night we ended up having an impromptu 'circus skills' party, would you believe. Sparkle Barbie Horse began proceedings by balancing on a plank of wood on a log, then balancing successfully on the plank of wood on top of a keg (jumping up to do so) and then by getting out his diabolo and doing that while he balanced. Damn talented man; he got the skills baby. We all had a go, I was slowly getting the hang of both the balancing and the diabolo by the end of the night. I will post pictures/video soon, but it won't be tonight because when I get home from work we're picking up a minivan and Darrell, Kate, Chelsea, Laura, Andrew & I are all heading over to Revelstoke to ski/ride for a couple of days and stay in a 6 person suite at the Super8 Motel. Hurray!



By the way, in contrast to the post below, I'm really sad about Mark Speight. I'm too old to have grown up with SMart, but I knew who he was and I've been following the story unfold from over here. Given the circumstances of his fiancee's death, I can imagine it would be a real struggle to come to terms with what happened. Poor chap.

From my cold dead hands...

Goodbye Charlton Heston. I can't say I'm sad to see him go.

Getting dry

Random genius.

Homebirth takes another knocking

I happened across this study on the BBC website today. Oooh it made me so mad! You can tell the methodology is flawed without even reading the study itself. Even the headline is inflammatory: Home birth to ward increases risk. Well I'm fairly sure that you don't have to be a midwife or doctor to realise that if you're transferring in to hospital from a homebirth, then it's usually because the risk has increased. Why else would you transfer a labouring woman? For shits and giggles? There was no control group of women giving birth in hospital for comparison and the study included women who had planned to have a homebirth at 12 weeks pregnant, but who had either changed their mind or had a change in circumstances which meant that they instead gave birth in hospital. Don't you think that might just skew the statistics? If circumstances meant that a homebirth wasn't the most appropriate option, that might just mean that the risk was higher for that woman anyway?

I thought this quote was one of the most interesting:

But when complications did arise for women in this group and she needed tobe transferred to hospital, her risk of losing her baby was nearly eight times higher than the national average - and 12 times higher than had she given birth at home.

This, by inference, means that if a woman does give birth at home, her risk of having a stillbirth or neonatal death (the difference not defined by this article) is far lower than the national average (a fact any midwife worth her salt could already have told you, and one that is well documented). So, given the safety of successful homebirth in comparison to the national average for losing a baby - and with 98% of births occurring in hospital this must account for the huge majority of these - why are we not positively promoting homebirth for those for whom it is an appropriate option? Which, incidentally, is the majority of women. Why don't we have an 'opt-out' system, in the way that they have had in the Netherlands for years, where women are booked for a homebirth as a matter of course and only transfer to hospital-based care if problems crop up?

Of course I can answer my own question quite easily. The majority of doctors in the UK, who have a tremendous amount of power when it comes to shifting both public opinion and funds, have little faith in homebirth. They have little faith, in fact, in women's ability to give birth without interference. They have little faith in midwives and their ability to assist women in this most natural of functions. This has meant a general lack of confidence throughout society in both homebirth and normal* birth itself, reinforced continually through the media. This has meant that women who choose a homebirth often meet with resistance from their caregivers - midwives included - who will look for any excuse to deny them their wishes. Even their peers usually say things like 'Ooh you're brave!' about their decision. Of course, it is those who choose to give birth in hospital, who choose to face the inevitable 'cascade of intervention', leading so often to the handing over of power and control to a complete stranger, with concomitant poorer outcomes, that are the brave - or some might say foolish - ones. In my humble opinion at least.

*normal, in my own parlance, meaning without pharmaceutical drugs that block their bodies' natural instincts and feedback systems and without assistance from ventouse machines, forceps or caesarean sections. I could go on to say with the woman being in control of the experience, feeling empowered and with known and supportive birthing assistants who promote the physical and mental wellbeing of the mother and baby by working with the hormones in play during labour and beyond, rather than against them. But that might be a little too radical for some.

Snake vs. Alligator = draw

The Burmese python tried to swallow its fearsome rival whole but then exploded.

How often do you hear a phrase like that? Full, awesome story here.

Lessons and visitors

Firstly, I'm a little behind in telling you that I took my first pupils out for a ski lesson last week. I loved it! No money changed hands, I assure you, though naturally chocolate was both offered and accepted. I work with a girl called Serina, who has been snowboarding since the beginning of the season, though has had mixed feelings about it. She has a friend who skis coming over in a couple of weeks and wanted to ski with her, so asked me to take her out. She'd skied once before, when she was 14, but had broken her arm on her first run. A challenge, then. PJ, her boyfriend is a good snowboarder but had never been on skis, so we started from scratch. Serina was a natural! She loved skiing and kept saying she didn't know why she'd been boarding all this time, when she was obviously a skier at heart. Ha! PJ was a bit frustrated at being a beginner again I think, in the same way that I was when I went snowboarding for the second time last week. I found myself sat at the side of a green run having fallen over for the umpteenth time, aching and cross, watching skiers whizzing past and eventually said sod this, went and got my skis and had a brilliant afternoon. PJ did the same an hour or so after I left them, but came and said thank you to me for giving Serina confidence. The following day she went on a lesson with Ski School and did her first ever black run at the end of it! I'm so proud of her...

And now onto the big news of the week and the reason I've been slack with my blogging: Jenny & Liddi have left today after staying with me for a week, during which time I've
sent them on a scavenger hunt around Banff (a thinly-veiled ruse to get them to buy me cupcakes, I'll freely admit), they've had ski lessons with ski school here at Sunshine while I was working, done shots at the Devil's Gap bar, we've taken the gondola up Sulphur Mountain and soaked in the Banff Upper Hot Springs whilst laughing at some poor teenage boy's carefully-tonged hairstyle, eaten ribs at Tony Roma's and spaghetti at the Old Spaghetti Factory, had Easter dinner with Megan & Craig and enjoyed an impromptu party at the Beaver, skied together on bluebird days, had a cleaning frenzy in preparation for a landlord inspection and locked Jen & Liddi in the bedroom while the landlords were there so they remained unaware that I had illegal guests. It's been lovely having visitors and I hope they enjoyed themselves too. I don't think Liddi particularly enjoyed skiing - I strongly suspect she has now hung up her skis and retired her poles - but nonetheless she actually did it really rather well for a beginner, as you can see in the video below. Nice one Liddi!

Winnie the Pooh is alive and well and living in Macedonia.

The value of privacy

If everyone could suddenly read everyone else's thoughts then very few people would survive the subsequent massacre

The above quote is from a truly excellent article by my old mucker Clive James that I came across on the BBC website this morning. I'm not one for lamenting the state of society on my blog very often - I tend to leave that to my dear friend Silas, as he's far better at it than me - and I can't hope to better Clive's turn of phrase, so I shall instead leave you to read the words of another that happen to mirror my own thoughts.

Another 10 things I've learnt in Canada

1. If you wear your iPod out when it's below freezing, the earphone cable becomes stiff & rigid almost straight away.


2. The Northern Lights, in all their glory, can be seen this far south.


3. Good bread, like a good man, is hard to find.


4. A roadtrip is worth every penny and all the effort.


5. It is possible to tell, without checking a thermometer, if it's below -20, by breathing in deeply and feeling if your nose hairs freeze.


6. a) Ski boots are easy to put on and difficult to walk in. Snowboard boots are difficult to put on and easy to walk in.


7. b) Skiing & snowboarding are totally different, requiring different techniques and using different muscles. Skiing is far easier to pick up but harder to get really good at.


8. c) The constant strapping and unstrapping of your bindings when snowboarding quickly becomes tiring and irritating.


9. Canadian mobiles phones are expensive: you get charged to receive as well as to make calls, there are lots of 'added extras' to pay which back home come as standard (such as the facility to make emergency calls) and the monthly amounts vary wildly for no discernible reason.


10. Badgers out here are different from badgers back home. They look weird and scary.


11. The most irritating sentence in the English language is: "Hi, I lost one black glove somewhere on the hill about 3 weeks ago, not sure what make it is, do you have it?"


12. The second most irritating sentence in the English language: "Hi, I think I'm on a list...?"
    
    

Board to tears

What is it with me and trees? Today I had a go at snowboarding for the first time and, naturally, I managed to fall into a tree well, from which Gravy helped me out as soon as he'd properly documented the occasion. Oh, and laughed at me alot. It was enormously comfortable incidentally. The snowboarding went fairly well - I was linking turns by my 3rd run - though I fell over a lot and was immensely grateful for Laura's impact shorts, knee pads, and Zander's wrist guards. Of course, the one part of me that remained unprotected was my elbows, so I now have a massive bruise on my left one. Good work. Here's me in action when it was going well:



And when I was somewhat less successful:




Oh and one of Chelsea's friends (Natsuko Katashima) who was in another part of Banff when the Aurora happened took these photos, which are incredible. I'm posting one here so you can see how amazing it really was.

Ambition achieved

Was happily sleeping in my bed tonight when my flatmate Laura burst in and shouted that the Northern Lights could be seen outside - I jumped up and joined everyone in the house out on the terrace in their pyjamas to watch the Aurora Borealis swirl and flicker and snake its awe-inspiring way across the sky. Naturally this photo does it no justice whatsoever but it's the best we could do (thanks Chelsea for your picture).

This is one the main reasons I came to Canada: to see the Aurora. I've waited all my life to see it. I'm not ashamed to admit I had a little cry.

Quick addendum to the above now I'm properly awake. You don't see the Northern Lights this far south very often, and rarely in town because of the light pollution. Even the locals were talking about it this morning. I certainly didn't expect them to be as bright and vibrant as they were. I've been bouncing around all morning on a high and feel immensely privileged to have seen them. They certainly didn't disappoint; they were as beautiful as I'd hoped (and thanks to Gravy for this picture).

Say what you see

Ever wondered what colour blind people see? My friend Zander is colour blind and got sent this link from his friend recently, which recreates what red/green colour blindness does to your perception of the world. We sat and looked at the pictures together and he genuinely couldn't see any difference in them, which I found fascinating. This morning while waiting for the bus he remarked that although he wasn't that bothered about it, he did feel a bit sad that he couldn't see how pretty Christmas trees were. All together now: ahhhhhh.

Roadtrippin'

Firstly, let me prefix this post by telling you my proud news: that I am now a fully qualified Level 1 Ski Instructor! Who'd've thunk it? I didn't mention I was taking the course because I was worried I'd fail. However, somehow I managed to blag my way into CSIA membership with my, frankly, barely adequate skiing abilities. I was so proud when I got my badge that I blubbed like a baby.

So, I've been a-roadtrippin' again. A last minute drop out proved fortuitous for me, when I got the opportunity to join 2 of my flatmates, Kate & Chelsea, along with 3 of my fellow Sunshine employees, Jono, Marlie and Brianna, on a trip to Fernie and Castle Mountain; Jono was doubtless excited about the prospect of being the only male escort to 5 lovely ladies.

We were picked up at 5am on Monday - there went my much looked forward to lie-in - and began our drive to Fernie, around 4 hours away. We arrived super excited to discover that they'd had a good few centimetres of snow overnight, with yet more
falling. The cool thing about Fernie is that it feels so open and varied. At Sunshine you pretty much go up, do a run back to the village, go back up, do a run back down to the village ad infinitum, whereas with Fernie you feel like you can go anywhere - up this lift, down that run, up the T-bar, traverse across, back up - and don't need to go all the way down to the base until you're good and ready. We found a fabulous run across a powder-filled bowl, down a tree run to a natural half-pipe etc., which we did over and over, and it was snowing so hard that by the time we got back up our tracks were covered, so we got fresh tracks on every run! So nice. We stayed at Fernie for day 2, because even more snow had fallen and we didn't want to miss such a good powder day.

Now, skiing in powder is very different from skiing on packed snow or groomed runs, requiring a totally different technique, and it's not something I've had much experience of, and thus I found I skied like a total gimp. I fell over all the time, lost one of my skis under 2 foot of powder at one point, and generally struggled to keep up with the others I was with - all of whom are snowboarders incidentally - but had a ball nonetheless. As Megan pointed out to me when we caught up on the phone: it's all about getting from point A to point B and having fun. Whether you do it with much in the way of style and grace is largely irrelevant. The really good thing about powder is that if - or in my case when - you fall it in, it's virtually impossible to hurt yourself!

Day 3 we went to Castle Mountain, which Gravy and Laura et al. had visited a few weeks ago on a massive powder day (something like a foot and a half of fresh snow overnight) and had had (and I quote directly) "the best day's snowboarding EVER". My expectations were therefore high, so I was slightly disappointed to find that it was a little too sparse on the snow side and a little too generous on the ice, particularly high up the mountain. We began our day doing the Chutes - oh yes, excellent choice guys: start the day with a double black diamond wind-swept sheer drop covered in ice, when we'd all been skiing/riding for 2 days and were aching and bruised. Nice. After only an hour we stopped for a drink and Marlie, Kate & I decided to go and do some nice easy runs off the Huckleberry chair. At one point we went to get on the lift and as we shuffled forward we collided with each other and I dropped my pole. As I bent to retrieve it I ended up getting my ski caught in Kate's snowboard binding and we all toppled over. They stopped the lift to avoid hitting us with it. If this wasn't embarrassing enough, the next time up the woman asked if we wanted her to slow the lift down for us? Giggling, Marlie replied "I know it looks like we've never done this before, but it's my 7th season and she's an instructor!"

On our penultimate run I found the most amazing route through the trees, with lots of fresh powder to be had. I grabbed the girls for our last run and urged them to follow me to find the good stuff. Somehow - and I still have no idea exactly how -
I managed to stack it on a tight turn around a tree and fell over, ending up face first in the snow, with my legs and skis tangled upwards behind me in the tree. I saw Marlie approaching nearby and tried to call out to get her attention, but was laughing so hysterically I could barely speak. By some miracle she spotted me and came over. I asked for a little help and in reply she gave a one-word demand: "Camera!" We carried on laughing all the way back down to meet the others.

The 3 day's hard physical exertion and a 4 hour drive back found us exhausted and I was desperate to collapse on my bed, have a shower and an early night. It was not to be: on entering my bedroom I found that the Beaver Boys had had a little a fun at our expense whilst slighty inebriated the previous evening. My bed had been turned upside down, as had my bedside cabinet (scattering its contents liberally across the floor) and my chair. Thank goodness my wardrobe and computer desk had been spared; the sofa, microwave, toaster and television (now unwilling, or unable, to show us any red, rendering all persons bright blue) had not been so lucky. Kate's room had been similarly violated. Suffice to say, the 'hilarious' reaction they had been expecting was not forthcoming but, being the nice person I am, I've forgiven them now.

All photos from the trip available here.

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!