Sunday (wrote Mr. Kipling)

Blue skies again. Having had a chat with Heinrich, he managed to squeeze James, Isa, Misa and Elisa (I kid you not) into an apartment for the night. It turned out to be the same apartment Sylv, Pren, Sarah and Tony were billeted in last year, so that was all rather nostalgic. I shared the last of my meagre rations (cheese, butter, nutella) with the others, then hit the slopes again. Another day without a cloud in the sky, and a tad warmer. We headed up to Valluga, at the very top of the resort and spent several days trying to get Isa to keep her eyes open for a photo of her and James. More playing around in the snow and trying to avoid each other…

…Actually, y’know when you’re a kid, and you put cushions at the bottom of the stairs before sliding down them in sleeping bags? (No? Just me, then.). Well, I’ve discovered I am Elisa’s cushion. Somehow, whenever I’m sat, waiting for the others at the side of the piste, she’ll slide in towards me and, essentially, use me as a crash barrier. Ten metres away, I’m saying, ‘Okay stop now. Now. No, really now. STOP!’ – crunch. It’s not actually intentional, and it’s still making me laugh, even as I extract her board from my mouth…

So, down to St. Cristophe to the Alms Hospice (the restaurant with the slide!). for lunch, where James had an half hour debate with a waiter wearing a painted wooden bowtie about just how big the soup was. They got their revenge, though: his food didn’t turn up until we’d all finished ours.

So, more of the same. Sylv came out and met us for dinner at Pizza Pomadoro, then the Zurich contingent headed home (leaving me to wait for Sylv, who was being chatted up by two plastered Danes). Sylv and I, having handed her number over to the more dashing of the two Danes, ended up in Scotty’s for a couple of beverages.

And so to bed.

Mine, obviously.