Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.
An absolutely colossal snow dump overnight meant the first lift didn't open up to ski school until 9am and in the ryanair school of Italian queueing it was never going to be anything other than a monumental tug of war once it did.
Eventually up at the Office the view is slightly different - total snow outlook. The beauty of the mountains and trees swirling in snow is unsurpassed on days like this. You just cannot capture in photographs the essence of it but I could sit and look at it for life.
Ski school had to start an hour late and Soph's private lesson was cancelled in the chaos. We sat inside Christiana and she messaged the universe on her blackberry while I got on with my work. Eventually Group Dad showed up to assess the situation and was about to call it an early day when Billy Boy, Sal and Dave turned up and they all decided to try a few runs. I have to say that I think they are mental. Practically everyone coming down the blue run in to ski school was falling in the deep drifts.
Naturally the Office got a bit crowded, loud and jolly. You meet all sorts of people who are also not skiing. Often they have been injured in a fall and it has knocked their confidence. I once sustained a hard head knock in La Tania where in Bridget Jones fashion I proved the Sarah Ruston No. 1 Rule of Skiing - that it is possible to ski faster uphill than downhill when fabulously out of control down an icy steep red. Funny for the film but it ended my private confidence battle with my head and I officially gave up any desire to ski there and then.
It hasn't though stopped me enjoying watching everyone else pretend that ski boots and skis are comfortable, fun and enjoyable. The absolute rigmarole of the whole thing is totally ridiculous. Soggy, drippy, freezing people that keep going back out for more. I'm sorry but I can't do the maths as to why anyone would want to risk their lives on two planks (or one for that matter) when they can walk around on the service roads perfectly well on two steady feet.
Eventually my logic outed when Noodle and Tonka Toy turned up with Group Dad and Soph for a raucous lunch. As officially Christiana's best customer of the week I secured a table for 8 which is a feat of modern ingenuity in this place because the food is so good. It is officially the best food I've ever had skiing and you can't say fairer than that.
In the end, I gave up half the table to an Italian-English group which was good fun as they mixed and matched their language and we four squashed around the end for the best half pizza I've ever shared. Noodle agreed. Christiana will never get a Michelin star because it is uncomplicated food but what it does do should get a Ski Food equivalent. I cannot recommend it enough.
Our mini-group decided to call it a draw and go down the hill. We couldn't raise a lift from Luigi back to the hotel and the free ski bus was also on siesta so we took refuge in the hotel at the bottom of the lift which has the most lovely bar. It turns out to have the most lovely rooms and spa too. Gordon Bennett. I felt lucked out. I'd tell you the name but it only has 40 rooms and I fancy booking myself.
Group Dad, Noodle and Tonka Toy got a booking in the spa so we hailed a taxi to return us to the hotel and I took to my bed for a nod or two. Waking at 6.30pm I felt a whole lot better than I have all week and changed for dinner.
I thought they were all out in town as I rounded up Luigi to make me an illegal G&T. I know free pouring is an art. Here it is half and half in a pint glass and you only need one to get you going. Trust me. It cannot possibly meet the 20,000 EU regulations that deal with alcohol but as I'm on holiday, I don't care.
The Group were all there though gazing at their phones to a man, as if in some semi-comatose state. My goodness, not in the zone at all. Alcohol rationing has clearly been introduced while I was asleep.
Day 4 sloth and slumber induced by over extending ones physical capacity for exercise in deep snow and binge drinking in all but the Minors cases means they are all feeling like sleeping. Only for once, I'm hot to trot - until the pumpkin hour anyway.
Wondering whether the Spaghetti War would ensue we were almost first in to dinner. Now that is new. No sign of the enemy though. They checked out this morning but apparently the armistice was signed with smiles, hugs and kisses last night at the bar after I had pumpkinised at my normal hour. Ha. The English know how to win a battle. And a Spaghetti War.
I managed a bit of each course of dinner. The food is a bloody legend, if only I could eat very much of it. Maria makes a mean anything, even if she can't staff the bar. I managed to get to cheese at the end which is a triumph of eating compared to the whole week so far and retire almost last to finish another short piece of writing entitled 'On death and Dying'. I don't think contemplating mortality is morbid. Actually, I think it is essential. Life is short and we have to get on with it at a pace that is astonishing.
As I recently killed the pace and realised a whole day is a really long time, I have been reflecting upon what I want from the rest of my life. Being so ill with this hyperthermia and my bad back has seen me feeling very, very rotten indeed.
Hyperthermia can kill you. It probably won't but it might. It focuses you in a way that is hard to exaggerate. It makes you feel like dying would be a release from being so unwell. I have never felt this unwell before so had no idea how unwell it is possible to feel.
But I'm feeling increasingly better on a day to day basis, bad bouts not withstanding. Starting a new job has also been a stress even though I love it already. So I will see out New Year's Eve tomorrow with a clean, clean sheet on every front and I've made some interesting decisions this past week about what I want my future to look like. It can't be more exciting. But first there is a time to sleep.
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