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

Belle de Neige

Wednesday, 2 February 2011

The Minions

In the spirit of SbH (and with some helpful contributions from his good self –these days he peers over my shoulder and tries to back seat write many of my posts) I have come up with a list of nicknames for some of the more idiosyncratic of our respective teams of minions:

Thick-but-Happy (TbH): A grinning fool. No word of advice or nurturing guidance seems to penetrate his skull or skin and the fact that he’s good-looking in the same way a Labrador puppy is only adds to his charm resulting in a frustrating lack of urgency.

Bangers: What can I say? She has lovely breasts. As our friend the nimble-fingered physiotherapist 'Magic Hands' (who is currently banging Bangers) repeatedly reminds us.

The Professional: Chef extraordinaire. He doesn’t need your help. He works alone. No women, no kids.

The Artiste: Virtuoso pianist fresh from Oxbridge. Rather charming, innocent looking and a great cook, but cleaning bogs is beneath artistes, you know.

The Furtive Ginger: Great craic but collars don’t match cuffs, as she freely admits.

Mini SbH: At the start of the season thought I was some kind of cooking consultancy hotline and terrified me with questions (in the middle of service) like ‘How to you cook chicken’ and ‘what do you put in basic bolognaise sauce’. Since then has turned out to be fairly competent and a right little charmer where both guests and women are concerned. Picked up snow-boarding quicker than a Lindsay Lohan picks up STDs and was doing back flips within a week. Has 200 Euro tips coming out of his ears and a number of chalet girls already under his belt. One could start to resent this little sod, if he didn’t keep his chalet so immaculate, hand his accounts in on time and have that disarmingly innocent twinkle in his eye.

Calamity: Had asthma and no muscles in her body when she first arrived. I asked her to pick up a packet of crisps and she practically fell over. I feared she might wither away or die of hypothermia. In classic newbie 18-year-old chalet girl style, didn’t seem to understand that a singlet and ballet flats don’t quite suffice on the arctic tundra either. But it turns out she’s an absolute little trooper and reminds me a bit of Shazzer circa 2002 actually.

Bill and Ted: Joined at the hip and having a(nother) most excellent adventure - complete with guitars. Rufus. Didn’t need to be taught any seasonaire lingo. Actually invented some of their own and have nicknamed me The Lashmonster. Not sure how I feel about this. Guaranteed to be back next season as long as they survive this one intact.

The Vagabond: Clumps around a lot in big jumpers and boots, tells awful jokes and muffs up the punchlines and quotes randomly from films. Floppy hair. Drainpipe jeans. Adorably geeky but really quite handsome if you get a glimpse under the emo fringe. If I was ten years younger...

The Tit-Gypsy: Appears to live in a complete fairy land where she is the Queen of Fucking Everything and everyone is in love with her. In reality is a bit of a Tit-Gypsy.


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  2. Ah the minions. My personal favourite is Dirty Laundry Girl: 22, acts 12, goes for German men twice or more her age, skis like a mum on crack (mogul runs only, but mum stylee) and hates drinking and those who drink (but takes my driving shifts off my hands, so I can go to apres and make some kind of tit of myself).


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