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

Belle de Neige

Tuesday, 16 March 2010

Swimming pool trauma

So, I'm going to have a wee 'jauntette' back to the Ski Resort in, oooooh, let's see...six days! Not that I'm counting or anything...I can't ski of course. I can barely walk. But there are other things young Belle can find to amuse herself darlings. Sex, booze and sunsnowbathing here I come!

There's also a little event called 'The Three Valley Rally' which does exactly what it says on the tin. Seasonaires must complete the course spread out over the 3-valley ski area in one afternoon, stopping at checkpoints to complete various comedy tasks and drink vast quantities of shots. I am hoping I've wangled a place on a check point, now I'm semi mobile, where I can get aggressively drunk, and torture people who can ski. Pray for good weather. I bloody deserve it.

In the interim SbH has been keeping me very amused with witty internet chat banter. The conversations turn to graphic 'wait til I get you home' style filth with alarming regularity. Well one has to feed one's horny beast with some kind of amusement during a dry spell.

Best of all I am now sans bionic, Crash-esque, heavy duty hinged leg brace on the advice of my surgeon (who I suspect used to be quite a hunk about 20 years ago). Although when I walk I lollop most inelegantly, darling. It looks like I have one leg shorter than the other. Which I basically do since the gammy one won't lock out. I haven't quite got the hang of a nice high heel back but I'm working on it. I can even swim a bit.

Now then. The swimming baths are, er.... an experience.

'We do a special rate for people like you' moaned the greyish hag with dead eyes behind the leisure centre reception desk yesterday morning, eyeing my funny shaped knee cap.

'People like me?' I asked 'How do you mean?'

'People with injuries,' she continued, and led me over to a place they laughingly call The Health Suite. This basically consisted of five fat ugly blokes broiling in a disgusting looking jacuzzi and a plunge pool full of ancient crusts floundering around in hideous neon one-piece bathing suits.

'Do you know what' I told her, smiling politely...'I don't think I will'. I don't care how much muscle wastage I need to counteract I don't fancy being letched over by some obese, aging freak while trying to restore my leg to full action. I wouldn't be able to run away, for one thing.

Later that morning I told SbH of my concerns:

Said he: 'I'd be more worried about swimming behind them, I doubt their bladder control is all that hot at that age'

Said I 'Won't the water turn purple? Or is that an urban myth?'

Said he: 'Myth. I tried it out. Myth busted'

I'm glad I can rely on the boy for these things. It only adds to his charm.

...and in closing, a quote from my Dad, in a rare appearance at the gym (dropping me off) and on seeing a room full of 6 year old kids learning karate:

'Look at all those little wankers'

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