Diary of Lisa Taylor, reluctantly 42 (and a half)

Or.. 'f.ck me I'm forty.. two.. and a half', though can look 38 on a - not so deluded - good day. Or 'How to reconcile a well experienced mind trapped in a still - but for how long? – youthful body.' Don't have the 30somethings angst/problems, neither have the resigned (?) ageing baby-boomers in safe family territory outlook yet. Here's how I cope, one day all sexy women will get old... but never invisible. © Lisa Taylor 2005/6/7/8/9. Jeez.. so much for the 42 and-a-half delusion

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

18 March - Apres Neige

It always seems silly as you wake up at 4.30am to trek to an airport to get on a flight to get on a train to get to ski for 3 days max and then spend another half day in reverse, but fortunately your brain overrules the knee jerk reaction of why bother and reminds you that when you're there you're on TOP OF MOUNTAINS and you go dowwwwnnnnnnnnnnnnnn, yipppieeeeeee. All fab. Including making the following classic mistake on morning of second day (tk got you'd already got your ski legs on day 1) 'Hey, look if we get off where A. gets off (A. who's been training for 5 years with Olympic ski instructor and very recently has become his equal, sort of) in order to go off piste, see here, there is a short blue run that connects and then we can come down'. I was well aware that I do all sorts of dyslexic shit these days with words and places but to do it with colours is a first. I saw blue but it was red. Red next to black. Paralysing red, since it's always the first bit of the descent that makes the piste a red, or the narrowness. I stayed upbeat, there was hardly anyone on the pistes and the snow was fresh, you can just come down sort of side ways and slowly non? So off I go and in mere minutes am below the hard bit. But Toph is still up there adjusting his sunnies (can't see with/can't see without he shouts as visibility is suddenly disappearing in a sea of white). Houston we have a problem I thought but was well aware that you don't just take your skis off and trudge up to hold hands with boyf in funny moment mode. He's not a girl and you have to respect male pride. Since the only way is down, he did come down and after that, there were no obstacles. This is sort of my philosphy with most things. Do the hard bit first and the remaining will seem easier. Start with the easy and the hard seems looming larger. For this reason I'll always put my hand up first/fast. Watching all the others take their turn before you is excruciating. But we're all different. Coming home and tearing up your insurance documents is always a favourite moment. Before that we woke up to stunnign 180 degrees of the best view ever (wasn't that sunny but am prepared to forget that) in a wonderful house. Company and food and wine was excellent. Am sure that coming here with a large group of friends instead of 6 would be even better and am currently sitting here wondering why I left it to mid March to go skiing, with no time to sort out another w/end before all the snow melts. We had in fact to chase some in nearby Italy as the Swiss slopes were in dire need. It was good to catch up on the news of A's work, L's about to be launched web magazine for non straight-forward people (I like her idea of a tab for those who will find it objectionable, you click here and voila' it takes you to the Daily Mail. It was also great to chat to the son who was formerly the daughter and is now a man in the process. And his g/friend is super smart and likeable, I would say the first Greek I've ever met. Is that possible? How have I managed a London life all these years and never met a Greek? She had yoga and acrobatics in common with Toph, well, acrobatics he wishes.... We were just wondering if you were a couple of lesbians and then one of you becomes a man, are you then in a hetero relationship then? Questions questiosn, I guess I should read some alternative stuff, forgot the name for these non-norm lives. One small word of warning. There was a reason why I have never gone to Switzerland for le ski, and stuck to Italy /France. The reason became very obvious when I paid £18 for a pizza (not on top of the slopes I add but village level below) and £20 for a chicken faijita or £50 for a bottle of local red or £ for a swiss for crying out loud bar of chocolate. Oh the irony of the swiss chocolate. Then I got back and a little graph caught my eye in the Economist. In 2008 you got 2.4 swiss francs to the pounds. In 2011 you get 1.3. for some reason I had failed to check what a franc would buy. Apprx a third of a regular 125gms chocolate bar it seems. Of course the Swiss don't want undesirables non rich in their midst, that's well known. Plus this is good news for my Brit friends marooned in Portugal where their new life has not taken the turn they hoped for when they moved 3 years ago. Buy 2 properties, live in 1 and rent the other 1 out. As for work.. eh, er, mmmh. Finally a Swiss investor (dontcha know) is about to sweep both up and free them from the debt.


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