Tales of catastophe, sex and squalor from the Alpine Underbelly...

Belle de Neige

Sunday, 14 February 2010

Cunting Fuck!

Oh goddy god. It seems Cinderella will not go to the ball after all. Alarming how life, the universe and everything can change in a split second.

One moment there I was, floating up the chairlift through the cloudbank into a pale blue sunlit sky, snowflakes like luminscent plankton powdering my face as I travelled through the air listening to Coldplay, 'Slowly breaking through the daylight....slowly breaking through the daylight' and thinking how for the first time in a very long while, I felt truly content and that life was just goddamn peachy.

Then bang! The next moment I'm laid out spread eagled on the underside of that second fateful roller, skiis, goggles and dignity scattered to the wind, screaming blue murder ....'Somebody loosen my motherfucking boooooot!!!!!'

I've ripped my knee ligaments to shreds....as the moustachio'd and ostentatiously French Dr Pepin explained to me (if you call explaining flailing your arms around and hopping up and down while shrugging a lot in an 'I honestly couldn't give a monkey's left testical stop wasting my time' kind of way). They strapped me into the blood waggon. All I could see was a slit of blue sky, fairy dust still dancing around me and L's concerned face peering in at me while I hyperventilated so much my entire body gave way to pins and needles.

So that's it. Game over. Just in time for my Uncle and cousins to arrive on holiday expecting to ski the arse off it with me. Cinderella has turned into a pumpkin a little earlier than expected.

F-the-Chef, L and SbH picked me up from the hospital. Strapped up in a splint and shivering outside in my socks on crutches. Sucking brutally on a cigarette, I demanded immediately to be taken to the pub where, on top of the unidentified liquid painkillers they'd given me, I consumed several neat whiskeys and a couple of pints before being escorted down to Marks & Sparks' chalet to pass out. It's all like a strange unquantifiable dream. How many best laid schemes have now gang agley! There's so many bases I haven't covered.

And to add insult to SERIOUS injury, today is Valentines Day. Oh for God's sake. Every other bastard in site is off on a 'LoveSki'. There are red heart shaped balloons floating around all over the resort and people drooling over each other everywhere. SbH, bless him, brought me breakfast from his chalet this morning before sloping off looking forlorn because there was literally no-one to ski with as everyone has coupled off for the day. It's a bluebird day. Perfect conditions for an off-piste shag. Oh woe is me. That bastard fate shits on me again. The path of my life is strewn with cowpats from the DEVIL'S OWN SATANIC HERD!!

So, what to do now? As I said to my boss, who paused for a moment and then gently nodded, with a look of slight embarrassment 'I am now about as much use as a chocolate teapot, aren't I?'

Hobbling round a ski resort on crutches is no joke, let me tell you. I have considered putting one of SbH's invention's into fruition by rigging myself up with a sled pulled by 100 Chihuahuas, so I can cruise around the resort tucked up in a fur coat and diamonds, smoking and swearing loudly at people on skis. But sadly I feel I may have to face the lonely road home instead for an operation, lest I remain a lame duck for the rest of my days. I'm like road kill.

My heart again is broken. And there are so many things it will break me to leave I'm not sure which is causing the most pain. The leg is excruciating but nothing on the heart.

A demain.

1 comment:

  1. oh petal, I don't know what to say. Quickly buy a Euro Millions lottery ticket so that you can buy the resort with the winnings and stay there (with the chihuahuas sledge) and buy the biggest phat chalet. THEN hire your boss to clean for you.

    Or come home fopr afew weeks - recover - then go out again in a month???????

    Hugs and keep with the drugs xx

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