I paid the balance on our family ski trip to Bulgaria today. It’s left me mentally unbalanced. I can’t fly, can’t ski and there ain’t a big enough pair of ski trousers anywhere in Europe to cover my ass for the duration. Why oh why did it seem like such a brilliant idea in February when I booked and paid the deposit ?
Our holiday package includes ski school and a Christmas night gala dinner. What do you wear to a gala dinner ? A swimsuit ? My very experienced skier friend swears that you have to wear a bobble hat at all times on and off the slopes.
I refuse to go on the escalator in John Lewis because heights make me dizzy, let alone ride a ski lift. PLUS I am a very, very fussy vegetarian eater. How do you say ‘no milk, eggs, pastry, processed cheese or frozen vegetables please.’ in Bulgarian ?
Christmas at home is a cook/clean/shop/worry-athon for me and a spectator sport for everyone else in my house. Every year my husband waits for the clock to chime midnight on Christmas Eve, when I can be relied on to have my arm sunk deep in a turkey’s inner tube, to ask ‘What did you get my mum this year?’
Men never learn. When he asked me that question on our first married Christmas, believing I could change him if I took immediate action, I grabbed our beautifully lit and decorated tree from it’s stand and beat him with it. It was a waste of a good tree.
Ah well Bulgaria for all it’s flying, ski lifting, frost and food perils is bound to be a breath of icy fresh air for us. I need one genius bobble hat for that gala dinner.