Seasonaire in the City is back in Meribel!!!!!!!!!!

Various mid training thoughts and the slight problem of men

So tonight I really feel like writing. I haven't written in a while partly because I have been so tired at the end of the day that I couldn't be bothered, partly because this year there has been far less drinking and bed hopping than last year so there hasn't been much to write about and partly because I left my laptop charger in England so have had to use my room mate's Macbook and I can't really figure out how it works.

So things have slowly been happen, nothing major . But I have quietly soaking up information like a sponge, watching and making notes on interesting snippets.

Today however I was sat waiting for someone and ended up sitting by the side of a bunch of chefs on a break. As I started listening to what they were saying and as I was sat there right beside them I started taking notes. I sat next to them for a good half hour writing down everything they said. Not that they were saying anything interesting, but what they were saying totally backed up everything that the fashion designer and myself have been saying about chefs for some while.

Don't get me wrong, my loyal readers will know that  I have had my fair share of favorites when it comes to chefs. But the fashion designer has always been deeply disturbed by my interest in such men, saying that she cannot figure out for the life of her why I am attracted to grungy chefs. She came out with the absolute classic that I think all single girls should take note of and remember;
'you cant expect a man to fancy you any more because you do that playing it hard to get thing and then some tart gives it up straight away and then men thinking 'why should I bother' ' I am not sure if she was advocating casual sex and flinging yourself at men, because she is the most prudish person I have ever met (she spend most of the plane trip to France talking loudly about why she did not like sex). 

Anyway enough of my man moans. Lets go back to when I was sat next to the chefs noting down all their ridiculous conversations. I might at some point write it out it full, it really is worth a read, but just so you know their topics of conversation were 'who had brought lube with them on the season and the reasons for this, this was brought up by the person in question's room mate who just wanted to embarrass him and just led to lots of jokes about anal sex, who their 'kitchen bitches' were, kebabs made out of a mixture of dog, goat and cat, burping and farting and their comedy value. And then one said 'Well there is nothing like a shaved dog in the afternoon' and they all burst out into hysterical laughter . I'm not even going to try and interpret that one. I have absolutely no idea.

The fashion designer's view of chefs.

'All chef are dirty. They are dirty and should have tongue piercing to prove they are dirty and should all be sent somewhere foreign. That isn't France...

Russia. There is plenty of space in Russia.

And under no circumstances am I coping off with one like you did'

This was the diatribe that the fashion designer launched into while sat in my bed just now.

Deja Vu

Having slight Seasonaire déjà Vu when it comes to a beautifully cooked bit of lamb at management training and the eying up the man who cooked it. Probably for the best if I just excused myself and went to my room.

Packing and the perils of luggage allowance.

So...I fly really soon. Unbelievably soon. And the one thing that is standing in the way between me and that plane is my packing. I thought it would be easier this time. I thought that this year I would know exactly what to pack and all the useless stuff I brought last year would be left behind. I would be a packing queen. A capsule wardrobe, a limited make up bag and that would be it.

No that is not it.

Yes this year I have weeded out all the ridiculous things I took last time. But once you have packed smart work clothes, ski clothes, ski boots, snow boots, casual clothes and going out clothes there really isn't a lot of room left in your suitcase and you are way past your luggage allowance.

And packing itself is a hugely traumatic experience. You spend the whole time trying to walk through the next six months in your head, desperately trying to see if you can remember if you have forgotten anything and panicking about what happens if you forget that really important thing that you cannot remember. And as I am sat writing this right now, you can tell I am putting off packing even further.

So yesterday I called up to add ski carriage on, which is an extra 12kg (this is sneaky because my boots only weigh 5kg) (I know this because I have weighed everything I own).

There, I thought, I now have 32kg to play with. That's more than enough. And I have hand luggage so I can put some heavy stuff in there.

Then today, while putting the carefully sorted piles of clothes that have been scattered around my room for days into my suitcase I released that my suitcase really was not of a suitable size and I would have to pay to split my stuff between two bags (I am flying Easy Jet by the way who like to make traveling with them vastly complicated and expensive, why can't they just let you buy another 20kg bag???) Anyway so I have now spent £36 on baggage allowance.

And after weighing all my stuff it comes to 26kg! I have a whole 6kg free that I have paid for.

Time to go shopping! (yes that is another packing avoidance plan)

The Long Last Weekend

Its been an eventful weekend for Seasonaire in the City, although the city I have been eventful in is no longer London but my beautiful, Northern, industrial, ram-shacked home city.

It started with the last girly glam-ed up evening for a long while when my bestest friend in the whole world Miss T, the mother of my beautiful god son, threw a 1940s themed birthday party. There was an unbelievable amount of time spent getting ready. It was virtually the whole day, from the outfit choosing, to the walking to Morrisions to buy Champagne (obviously top quality at Morrisions) to the hair removal, nail painting, hair curing, false eyelash sticking and make up applying to the unbelievably large amount of hairspray involvement. And I must admit, and I don't often say this, but I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. 

And the night went with a bang. Miss T looked beautiful, she had decorated her house for the occasion and everyone was suitably impressed. People had all made an effort (even if one guest had ordered a navy suit that was two sizes too small, still its the thought that counts). 

After several glasses of champagne and some rather potent punch, I kicked off my heels, pulled on some much less sexy boots and we headed out to a local rock bar. I have rarely been to a rock bar since hitting the legal drinking age (not through choice, I quite like them, it just hasn't worked out that way), and I have certainly never been to one is a floor length red gown and fur wrap. Iv also never danced to Rancid before but after the potent punch I could dance to anything (except actual dance music which I will never agree to).

I even started talking to a man (which also, as you will know my lovely readers very rarely happens and when it does leads to comical disasters). He subsequently (because we exchanged telephone numbers) asked me if I wanted to go for a ride on his motorbike (this is where I can foresee the comical disasters). 

Now I can just imagine my mother's reaction if I told her I was going round the Yorkshire Dales on the back of a motorbike. It would mainly resolve around her being really mad that if I got injured I wouldn't be able to go do my next season. 

'Calm down mum', I would say, 'He works at a hospital, he is a Diagnostic Radiographer' 

This is where she would hit me round the head with something heavy and tie me to a chair to make sure that I didn't get on any form of transport with less that four wheels before I got on the plane to France . 

On a completely different note, today I got an email from Miss P. She is as ever fabulous and had some big news to pass on that she has been building up to tell me for a long time. The bad news is that she has hung up her seasonaire shoes and the good is that she has moved into the world of proper jobs and a proper boyfriend. Not only that but she said some amazing things that gave me such a boost, at a time when things seem to be moving so fast and completely out of control. 

Miss P you know I love you and I always will. Your email had be blubbering throughout Strictly Come  Dancing (my mum thought I was drunk and that I was overwhelmed by Kimberley's possible eviction).

A sad sad day

Yesterday was a very sad day. Not only did I pack up and leave my house but I also had to throw my Secret Santa present from the Rep, in the bin. The red snowy slipper have seen their last morning drudge round the kitchen. 

I was very sad having to give them to the dustbin men but I had no choice. I have put them through the washing machine several times and last time I knew it had to be the last. Because the cardboard all melted and I had to spend some time setting it all back into place. But after several weeks wear the smell was getting prohibitive. 

So here is a tribute to my slippers. My special present from the rep. I love you rep!

Hell is a spinning class!

You know people are intrinsically racist when they say 'I'm not racist but..', and today I caught myself saying 'I don't hate exercise but..'.

Some people would think it is easy getting ready for a season, and so far for me it has been very pleasant.

It has mainly involved shopping. I have bought shoes from Ugg and Doc Martin, neon green sallies and bolly goggles from the ski show, pink sallies from a little shop in Skipton. I have stocked up on essentials in H and M and bought new underwear from Victoria's Secrets. New make up has been purchased from Bobbi Brown at Liberty and a new laptop is on order (as mine is just about being held together at the moment with ski tape and elastic bands).

I also had to say goodbye to my favourite foods in London, I went for Greek, Chinese and Haagen Diaz ice-cream.

Doesn't that all sound lovely (if a tad expensive)???

But in focusing on such lovely things, as my mother spent some time reminding me, I have missed a major part of getting ready for a life in the mountains.

Making some kind of effort towards getting fit.

It was a little shock to the system (that's a lie it was a huge shock to the system) last year that wherever you want to go, at some point to you have to do some serious uphill hiking. I have always done a lot of walking but before I moved to Meribel rarely had to walk up mountains. It was an uphill walk to work and an uphill walk at the end of a night out when the rep constantly forced us to walk home, no matter how much we begged to get a taxi. And although it got much easier I was always lacking behind the rep and the childcare manager as they hot footed it up at the speed of light.

There is also the skiing/ fitness issue. Seasonaires get injured at the beginning of the season when they are unfit and the end of the season when they think they are invincible mega, Olympic standard skiers.  Which they are not, they just know the mountain area and are drunk.

So, today I went to a spinning class. For those who don't know what spinning is, its an exercise class on a bike. It is always involves a scary, shouty man at the front screaming 'faster, faster' and loud music with a fast beat which is almost impossible to keep up with. Several years ago I went twice a week, but haven't done it in a very long time (because I'm lazy and am convinced that there must be a much more fun form of exercise I haven't discovered yet) Within three minutes I was sweating, within five minutes I was convinced I had died and gone to hell and within seven I was certain the 45 minute class must almost be over.

But after about fifteen I knew it was doing me some good and I should just stop moaning (moaning in my head as I wouldn't have dared moan to either the man leading the class or my mother) and just get on with getting fit.

And I have booked another class tomorrow and one on Thursday.

Thank God I have lots more shopping to look forward to.

Enjoying raclette at the ski show!

It's amazing but not quite as good as when you have it straight from under the hot light!

On a different note I have also just tried some sticky toffee cheese! Odd but strangely satisfying!