TO SKI OR NOT TO SKI, THAT IS THE QUESTION?

Date Line: The depths of winter, very early one morning.

Location: A log cabin somewhere in the snow covered Alps.

The Occupant: A winter holidaymaker.

“WHAT a lovely day it is, darling. I’m so glad we’ve come here for our holiday. It is a perfect day for skiing. The sun is out, the sky is blue, the snow is deep and, dare I say it, crisp and even.

“Now, come along, sleepy head, I’ve already made you a lovely breakfast to set you up for the day. Carrot juice, yoghurt, muesli, some delicious cold meats, cheese, fresh fruit, croissants and coffee. It will do you good not to have a fry up for breakfast for a change.

“Oh, I just can’t wait to get out on the slopes and, if we are quick, we can get there before everyone else does and then we can have the slopes all to ourselves, whilst the snow is in pristine condition.

“The village looks so picturesque, with the sun sparkling on the icicles hanging down from the eaves of the cabins and I’ve already collected our skis and all of the other gear we need from the skiing rental shop.

“I’ve also got the passes for the t-bar ski lift, which will whisk us up to the top of the mountain, in no time at all, and the views all around and below us will be so fantastic.

“And I’ve packed us a wonderful picnic lunch, so we can spend more time on the slopes and, when we get back to the village, we can go for a delicious glass of Glühwein.

“Oh, I can see us now, darling; it will be so exhilarating. Racing down the ‘black diamond’ in the fresh, sweet air, the sun glistening on the clean, soft, powdery snow, the snow flying up behind us when we ‘carve a turn’ and then stop to admire the view, before flying down to the end of the run.

“We can have a competition to see who’s the fastest and, if you win I’ll give you a great, big, sloppy kiss right there on the piste, but if I beat you, you can give me a great, big, sloppy kiss. 

“We might even bump into each other on the way back down the mountain and end up frolicking in the snow together, wouldn’t that be fun? Who knows, I might even bump into you on purpose just so that we can.  

“Then, when the stars come out in the evening and the village is all lit up with flaming torches, we can go on a magical ride on an open-sleigh pulled by a team of reindeers. Oh, it will be so romantic, snuggling under a genuine bear skin rug to keep us warm. We might even hear a lone wolf howling at the moon. 

“I’m so glad we decided to come skiing for our holiday, aren’t you, darling?”

*

Date Line:  The previous night.

Location: The same log cabin in the Alps.

The Other Occupant: The winter holidaymaker’s husband.

“What on earth am I doing here? Why on earth did I come here? Why on earth does anyone come here? I didn’t want to come here, it was my wife’s idea to come to this wretched, little place in the middle of nowhere, where it’s far too cold. 

“I should never have let her persuade me to come to this winter ‘wasteland,’ but she always gets her own way, and not just about where we spend our holidays, either.

“And why can’t we stay in a decent hotel instead of this miserable little hut, which the holiday brochure describes as ‘a wonderful, quaint and charming log cabin’, but isn’t? 

“It’s an old, wooden shed, just like the one we have in the back garden at home. We should have stayed there for a fortnight, where it would have been warmer and it would certainly have been a lot cheaper.

“On top of all that, the snow is always over six feet deep around here, which makes it extremely difficult to trudge down to the village to get a beer and, if I made it without falling into a snow drift, they’d probably only serve that disgusting Glühwein, anyway.

“Not only will I be unable to get a decent drink around here, the food’s bound to be no good either and there’ll be absolutely no chance of getting a decent breakfast like the ‘full English’ I have at home every day.

“And look at the ridiculous clothes I’ll have to wear, they are hardly the height of fashion and I wouldn’t normally be seen dead in them, but then that’s just how I might end up, if I run into a rock buried beneath the snow when I’m skiing down the mountain. 

“It’s far too dangerous here, anything could happen, although there’s bound to be nothing ‘happening’ in this dreary little village miles from anywhere.

“I could fall off that t-bar lift contraption thingy when it is half way up the mountain. Those things have never looked safe to me, what with your feet dangling in mid-air and having to hold on for grim death, and you even have to get on it while it’s still moving.

“Or I might be going too fast on the way back down and be unable to stop and crash into a tree or something and break my leg… or worse. 

“I might even be swept away by an avalanche and be buried alive under a hundred feet of snow, without even a St Bernard to come and rescue me and, even if one did happen along, its barrel of brandy would be empty.

“And if I survive all these potentially lethal hazards, I’ll probably be run over by a speeding snowmobile or get trampled on by a herd of reindeer pulling a sleigh and end up in hospital, anyway.

“Bears! There might be hungry bears, or even ravenous packs of wolves, looking for an easy meal and deciding that I’m on their breakfast menu.

“It’s just far too dangerous for any sane person to even contemplate coming on this sort of holiday.

“I am definitely going to go water-skiing next year.”

End.

Word count: 1,035.