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

Belle de Neige

Saturday, 29 May 2010

Back to the island....

Once upon a time... about twelve months ago... I was a proper little Suzie homemaker. This being bank holiday weekend the ex and I were probably perusing paint swatches for the upstairs bedroom and discussing how you can do it if you B&Q it. I may have been weeding the patio.

Oh how things have changed.

A year ago I had been indoctrinated into thinking I was a totally useless human being.

But tomorrow, I am going to Ibiza. Driving, to be exact. The car is prepped. The route plotted. The overnight campsite booked. The ferries booked. The necessary paperwork is all ready, numbered and filed in the glove compartment. My clothes are all packed (I'm taking an unreasonable quantity of shoes). I have the pre-Ibiza tan all sorted thanks to being essentially unemployed for the last month. Ironically I only have one bikini...

It turns out when it comes to partying, no one has clearer focus than Madmoiselle Neige. I've been perfecting the art of enjoying myself for the last 26 years, and I'm a professional, damn it!

I have even managed to rope the boy into coming along for the ride, then flying back after a few nights on the White Isle, which adds a whole nother dimension of awesome to this three-shades of fabulous road trip altogether.

He is feeling rather nervous. I on the other hand am perfectly calm. Which is odd considering the utter fuck-headed irresponsible ridiculousness of what I'm about to do...

Tuesday, 11 May 2010

No man's land

These days are strange. I, as many of my friends, am existing in that empty space between the end of an adventure and real life...or the beginning of the next adventure. Clinging onto the people who link me to the past six months. Horribly in debt and directionless while everyone else on earth gets on with the nine to five grind like a hurricane of robotic efficiency all around us. There have been lengthy phonecalls and facebook chats and even a drunken apres ski season apres ski party. Desperate attempts to keep the flame burning.

For my part there have also been several financially unreasonable trips up to London to see a certain person. It turns out that Scruffy but Handsome isn't actually that scruffy in real life. In fact I would go so far as to call him quite neat at a push. It's funny how many people you can be in one lifetime. His house is far too easy to get to from Victoria station for there to be a good excuse not to drop in on him on the way to and from 'business' meetings with my new boss for a cheeky fumble. And I'm dreadful....absolutely dreadful.... at resisting temptation.

Question: Have you ever turned up to a business meeting with the taste of someone elses fluids still in your mouth, and had to sit there and chat reasonably about something mundane...oooh, say, accountancy software....with a straight face, whilst battling to stifle flashbacks of precisely how filthy you were being only fifteen minutes ago? No - a first for me too. But thoroughly amusing.

They say life is what happens while you're making plans. So I have sworn to appreciate this rare and unusual time in no-man's land. My time to do with what I wish. I suspect one day in twenty five years when I'm feeling wistful I will squint back over my dim memories at these sweet spring days, melting into summer, when I spent so many luscious and lazy hours with the boy, and wonder ...whatever happened to him... and us?

If I could, I would bottle this time, put it on the shelf, and in the future when I'm fading, take little sips to remind me how warm and delicious life can be.

Wednesday, 5 May 2010

Belle de Neige....lost in Space

He: 'What was it I said to you the first time we shagged?'

Me: 'Erm...I think it was "this isn't going to get complicated, is it?" '

Silence

Me: 'It's not complicated though. Is it?'

He: 'Noooo. No. Not complicated. Not at all'

Me: 'Cool.'

I was lying on that grotty mattress, listening to E snoring - like a living heap of dirty laundry in the corner. The soothing morning sun was on my face and a cool mountain breeze drifting through the window - and it occurred to me - sometimes, the more uncomplicated you try to make something, the more complicated it gets.

This is true of life, the universe and everything, as well as relationships. And so to keep things beautifully simple I find it's sometimes best to just blindly forge ahead without thinking, or talking, too much about it. Or to put it another way, bury your head in the sand. Big Brother 2.1 says, at least 1/3rd of all life's problems just disappear if you ignore them stoically enough. Apart from maybe syphilis or pregnancy. And I think he's right.

Which is why I, like many of the other people who have just crash-landed from the pristine slopes of paradise back on this volcanic ash-infested, election-mania shit heap of an island, am planning to leave again.... before my toes have but grazed the puddled ground.

And now I have answered the cosmic question:'How do I fill the time between now and the next ski season?' it appears to me that sometimes seemingly insurmountable challenges are overcome in the easiest of steps...

So a few weeks ago I managed to convince some hapless bugger to give me a job. In Ibiza. And a flat. The job is too vile for words, but a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do. And what can I say; Ibiza's digital marketing industry needs me? No, I won't be selling my arse. Unless things get really tight. In which case arse-selling is listed Plan D, after Go-Go Dancing and becoming a bikini-waxer. You know my views on other people's hair.

Anyway, there are options.

I'll be sharing the flat with The Boss, who is quite clearly an enormous caner and plans to split the summer season between larging it on the White Isle and a more sober desk-job at home. The only other occupant - The DJ - is a pleasant enough chap on the phone - but one's got to have one or two reservations about living with a newly single DJ the wrong side of forty. I don't mind him being a fuckhead. As long as he doesn't try to fuck me.

'Are they a nice lot? The girls you'll be living with?' asked my Nanna, innocently over a cup of coffee the other day.

'Errr..... Yes Nan! Lovely girls. Really sweet. Very demure'

No point. There was just no point.