Curiosity killed the cat

The past few weeks have featured for myself and Nicola a range of curious experiences I wouldn't mind recounting, if you'd be so kind as to indulge me...

Lesson number 1 is that if you are going to even approach fashionable over here, you must be wearing Ugg Boots. Yes, that's right - Ugg Boots. I am a firm believer in wearing your pyjamas and related sleepwear inside your house, and crossing the threshold into the outside world either constitutes a mistake or the adoption of a persona not unfitting for an unemployed Narre Warren mother of 7. When combined with leggings that look curiously like jeans (but not enough to actually look good or even interesting), the effect is A-MAZING.

Lesson number 2 is that finding lemon juice in a bottle is tantamount to grasping the holy grail. Lemons by themselves? Yes. Orange Juice? Yes. Grapefruit Juice? Yes. Heck, even Quail Eggs in a carton? Yes. But when one assumes that one could possibly get the bottled juice of a very common citrus fruit, one would be dreadfully wrong.

Lesson number 3 is that it is always best to organise the purchase of a second hand bicycle from a Russian. Especially if said Russian has the bicycle located in a business park in a remote area near Swanwick. Anyway, it turns out that my friend "George" forgot his vehicle to take me from the train station to his business park locale, but did have his motorcycle. One challenge of this was fitting in the child-size motorcycle helmet he brought with him. Another was trying to keep my balance without grabbing hold of my Eastern associate (awkward). But the main one was preventing my iPhone from falling out of my tracksuit pant pockets while en route to our destination while not falling off. Oh yes, and not to mention trying to retrace my steps back to the train station on a bike with little/no brake pads on the front wheel. Let's chalk this all up to experience.

Lesson number 4 is that it is not uncommon for native animals to begin eating your garden, such as my friend here:



Once I got over the initial shock of meeting it within about 2-3 metres of me, I was able to take some photos, which were quite cool really.

Lesson number 5 is in the difficulty of re-enacting the Beatles' Abbey Road album cover on the actual intersection, without a) getting run over and b) not smashing the pulp out of the 39 French tourists dancing in the middle of the road.

I've also learnt how to replace the front brakes on my new bike, which links into being careful about buying bikes off Russians.

Until whenever...

As has oft been said 'a watched pot never boils'; a fitting lesson to note for you dear reader. Much in the same way as the aforementioned pot seems to not boil whilst being watched, my blog has been simply simmering without boiling over with any new thoughts and experiences.

Well, I'm pleased to say that as we have a gas cooker, it has now begun to change from a liquid to a gaseous state.

At some late point last week, we decided that a week's skiing trip to France would not be out of the question, so began planning in earnest to book. This isn't as easy as one would think, with even sites which call themselves 'lastminute.com' being poor at best at offering options for us.

Through hard work and a strong application of determination, we managed to book our flights, connections and accommodation (at a little hotel in Argentiere called 'Le Dahu'). Now before you ask, this 'Dahu' in question is the one and the same mythical goat-like creature popular in French mountain folklore (you're correct!).

We arrived late on Monday evening, and awoke on Tuesday to an amazing blanket of dust-like snow. Apparently there was 4.25 metres of snow on top of the pistes, so needless to say we went up to test that for ourselves. The skiing was amazing and the scenery beautiful. We'll get some photos into circulation at some point.

Food, however was questionable (at best). My suspicions of food safety and concerns around lack of refrigeration (I know it's -14 outside, but it wouldn't hurt to keep your cheese in a freaking fridge) were confirmed with my small partner in crime succumbing to a poorly stored cured meat-related ailment.

Needless to say Wednesday was spent with aforementioned friend getting to know intimately the surrounds of our hotel room's quaint ensuite. I'll readily note here that I'm not a born and bred 'carer', with my efforts restricted to lending a sympathetic ear and the offer of a blue Powerade.

However, Thursday was another day (of course). With Nicola's recovery slowly underway, we hit the slopes again, and by Friday she was at least hitting second gear. Friday saw us doing some brilliant off-piste powder skiing, whilst adeptly avoiding any potential for avalanches. We had done our homework, just in case we were in avalanche peril, and knew that we could simply shout 'aider! avalanche!' and we'd be A-OK.

The move to Southampton is ahead of us on Sunday, so should be settled there shortly.

So that is all for now, the pot has boiled over and if I don't take it off the stove it will boil dry, and we all know what would come of that...