In 2006 I...
learned I can run a business
learned I can run 10km
missed one chance to learn to ski...
...but learned to ski in the end anyway
meant to go to Cornwall
went to Scotland instead
went to Switzerland, twice
turned down a promotion
took a stunning new job
turned 30
made some new friends
got to know some old friends a bit better
filled in a few details on my big life picture.
It was a very good year.
In 2007 I will...
Get My Shit Together.
I am resolute.
Day 7. I have made great strides in my integration among these people. Today they invited me to undergo initiation in one of their most sacred cults. This religious practice, which combines mortification of the flesh and spirit, is undertaken in the most remote and inhospitable locations, at the very top of icy mountain peaks.
Setting off early, we travelled for two hours to reach the nearest sacred place. I then had to be dressed in the appropriate garb - layer upon layer of thick, padded, colourful clothing, functioning both as protection against the biting cold and as clownish costume, drawing attention to my status as initiation candidate - and prepared for the challenge ahead.
The point of the initiation itself is for the candidate to demonstrate his or her bravery, and hence worthiness, as well as to transcend fleshly limits through extremes of emotion - terror and exhilaration. The process is quite hair raising. One has long, unwieldy planks strapped to one's feet, and is equipped with a pair of sticks to aid in navigation. Through an ingenious pulley system, the participants (new initiates as well as elders) are brought to the top of a snowy slope, and must descend - battling the disadvantages conferred by these "skis", which not only create hair-raising speed if they are unwisely pointed downhill at any point, but which also of course tend to get tangled together, to trip up their wearer, and of course to impede attempts to stand up if one has once toppled over. The affront to one's dignity is an essential part of the spiritual development this rite promotes.
As it was explained to me, initiates devote many hours to this rigorous physical exercise in their desire to ascend through the levels of enlightenment. These levels are described by colour - rising from blue through red to the black of total ego annihilation - and correspond with greater levels of difficulty in the slopes descended. As one masters the higher levels, one also climbs higher and higher on the physical plane, so that the black "pistes" lead down from the very tallest and steepest peaks; thus the initiates aim ever closer to heaven. I find the close relation between physical and spiritual aspects of this rite quite striking.
One last element worth noting: as in many sacred cults, there is a sacred, mildly narcotic substance to be ingested as an aid to achieving the transcendent state of mind. The twist is that this "rumpunsch" is served in mountain huts that must be reached by ski. Thus, the rumpunsch is both a lure and reward for the derring do needed to attain it, and an aid to further courage - much needed, I can assure you, for the remaining descent.
Day 1. After a taxing journey, lengthened significantly by inclement weather, we make it to the village. Our hosts welcome us with smiles and offer us a simple supper (some sort of mushroom stew). I do my best to convey my thanks, and we retire early.
Day 2. The weather continues poor. There is a heavy mist, and the trees are white with frost, but no snow. I gather that the mountain people are preparing for a midwinter festival, much like our Christmas; the menfolk spend the morning on a hunting expedition to gather provisions for the upcoming feast. Later, we are taken to visit a branch of the clan in another village. This seems to be part of the seasonal bonding patterns. We are given a fizzy drink called "sekt".
After the evening meal, our hosts guide us on a walk around the village, pointing out the community's quaint seasonal decorations with pride: almost every hut is bedecked with white lights. Outside one hut, a tree sports blue lights; this seems to attract the disapprobation of our hosts. I think I hear the word "Englisch" muttered with scorn.
Encouraged, however, by this familiar sight, I resolve to share some of our own Christmas traditions, and give them a large box of mince pies. The reaction is ambiguous. They nod and smile, my translator tells me they think it good, but nobody takes a second one.
Day 3. Festive preparations are gathering pace. From quite early in the day, the cooking areas are full of bustle. I am curious to see what traditional midwinter feasts are eaten here, but it is hard to say; all I can see are small pots of different kinds of sauces, and some breads. No doubt there will a roast pig or some such brought out on the day itself. In the afternoon, I am invited to help with another familiar ritual: decorating the tree. I suspect my translator of contaminating the purity of my research by telling them about English traditions, for surely if they had their own tree tradition, it would have been decorated long before now? But he of course denies this, claiming that the tree is always put up on this day. A likely story. One other great difference: these people have no fear of fire! Their tree is bedecked with real candles.
In the evening, the clan gathers in the chieftain's hut and more sekt is drunk. In their strange, gutteral language, everyone exchanges greetings of "Frohe Wiihnacht" - my translator tells me today is Christmas itself; not, as by my English calendar, only Christmas Eve. My mince pies are handed round, but I think they are eaten with more politeness than zeal. We sit down to a meal, which to my very great surprise, is what they call a "fondue chinoise"; we each cook our own scraps of meat in shared pots of broth, adding sauces from the pots I saw earlier. I cannot deny that this is a sociable affair, but in such a cold climate as this, I expected something more robust. Afterwards we enjoy an "apfelstrudel" and gifts are exchanged. My translator and I congratulate ourselves on our choice of gifts: we brought a selection of puzzle games, designed to challenge and develop their primitive minds. I am touched by the gift I receive from the chieftain: a cunningly worked sack, with a map of the village attached. So truly thoughtful a gift for a traveller.
We end the evening with a noisy game of chance. My translator tells me it is called "Scheisse", but I find this hard to believe, since I have already worked out the common use of the word.
Day 4. It seems the feasting is not over. When we rise, we find a lavish repast of breads, cheeses, cold meat and fruit, with all kinds of preserves. Having eaten, we are invited to join our hosts for a walk around a nearby lake. This is very refreshing, as is the "weisse gluhwein" we are given along the way.
I am starting, however, to suspect my translator's skills. According to him, these people are constantly commenting on how warm it is. There must be some language error, however, since the swimming hole back at the village is entirely frozen over.
Although most of the mince pies remain untouched, I offer our hosts a Christmas pudding. They look slightly suspicious, but agree to let me have the use of the cooking area. After dinner I bring out the flaming pudding and they seem impressed - it seems fire helps to make an impact with these people. They taste the pudding and their faces soon show their enthusiasm. An animated discussion ensues; my translator tells me they are discussing how they might get hold of more of this pudding next year. I promise to send them one every Christmas, when to my delight I find that the chieftain's wife, at least, has learnt some of my language. She points to me and says: "Bring! You bring!"
It seems my future welcome in these parts is assured.
So I've finished work for the year. That is, I've done my last day in the office, and I'm near as dammit finished with website work too. I've tackled most of the things on my list (well... sort of most. Most of the urgent ones. About as much as was ever going to get done in the time available), and the panic has subsided. I'm pretty ready to get on a plane in two days, I reckon. Really very ready for a holiday, that's for sure. I have quite a bit of knitting yet to do on the stepmother-in-law's* gift, but that's good, because it gives me a most excellent excuse for not budging from the couch. Or possibly even bed. I have a bit of a cold and am eager to indulge it.
And the weather is very conducive to staying in bed, too. After weeks and weeks of oddly mild weather, suddenly a cold snap. With fog! Not exactly the London pea soup of song and story, but natheless a pretty fair showing. Or lack of showing. Picturesque factor high, visibility factor low. Marvellous. Mar-
Wait.
They're cancelling flights?
Well, at least I have for once invested in travel insurance.
_____
* Modern relationships. So complicated.
Two posters recently spotted that should never have been produced. First, the HP PhotoSmart "Photos of the Christmas party at the Christmas party!" ad.
What a remarkably horrid idea that is. Imagine it. The family's gathered round, digesting their turkey. Uncle Mike is the bore with the camera. Now, normally he'd just wander around making everybody grin inanely a few times; today, he then gets to run off and fiddle with the printer every half hour. The hilarity! And he passes around the pictures, which frankly, aren't very interesting and of course half of them are blotchy or squinting or pulling an unflattering face — so he has to take more pictures. And print.
And the afternoon, instead of being given over to that warm festive ritual of looking mildly bored and stuffing yourself with mince pies, becomes a farce of trying to look like you're having such fun, and trying not to be confronted with yet another picture of yourself with mince pie halfway to your face and chocolate smears down your front. And then afterwards, you entirely miss out on that happy ritual of "ooh, the pictures have arrived!", prompting the jolly postmortem that is so often more fun than the party was in the first place.
But that's just a little bit stupid. Here's the really stupid thing. The City of Westminster's admirable Safe Streets campaign has plastered tube stations with the well-meaning statement:
Some things you only do when drunk.
Starting a fight shouldn't be one of them.
I guess there is a logic to suggesting that starting a fight is a pleasure best enjoyed sober... but I'm not entirely sure that's their meaning.
So there I was, minding my own business, when to my shock I felt a copper tapping me on the shoulder. A novel and frightening experience (yes, I have led a very sheltered life). In a very British bobby sort of way, polite but firm, he suggested that I might want to oblige him with a list of 10 things I would never do.
Well, that's a tricky one. After all, helping the police with their enquiries is pretty high on the list of things I never expected to be doing. So having mulled* the question for a while, I've concluded I really don't dare make an official statement of such a very... definite nature. What happens if I'm wrong? Bad things happen to people who lie to coppers. I watch TV. I know these things.
Here, therefore, is a list of 10 things I think it would be highly unlikely for me ever to do. I hope this satisfies my civic obligations.
1. Undergo gender reassignment surgery.**
2. Eat baked beans with anchovies.***
3. Complete a knitted project correctly, on the first try, without changing my mind about any of it.****
4. Do work as soon as I can, rather than as late as I can get away with.****
5. Retrain as a marine biologist.*****
6. Join Rotary.
7. Stop whining about the painful absence of Days of our Lives and Gilmore Girls from the TV schedules.****
8. Eat a spider. (Knowingly. Before I start one of those conversations about how many spiders the average person ingests during their sleep, can I just emphasise: knowingly.)
9. Reject cookie consumption as a valid strategy for coping with the size of my thighs, stress and unhappiness caused by.****
10. Get a tan.****
_____
* Lots of cinnamon, not too much naartjie. Tasty.
** But, y'know, if you want to, that's cool.
*** Baked beans with anything would be pretty darn unlikely, but I figured I'd add anchovies to be on the safe side.
**** These items are all statements of simple probability, rather than principle.
***** Although I'm sure it's a lovely career for some.
...was chaos and disarray.
The rooms need cleaning, the linen needs washing, the freezer needs defrosting, the larder needs stocking. My hair needs trimming, my nails need filing, my legs need defuzzing, my desk needs clearing. My work needs doing, my business needs managing, stock needs reordering, inventory needs checking, sales need promoting, customers need tending, competitions need judging, books need updating. Presents need buying, and in some cases knitting.
I think, with the services of a particularly efficient personal assistant, a marketing assistant and a housekeeper, plus judicious use of sick leave, I *might* be able to get everything in order before our Christmas break, and start 2007 on a sound footing.
*sigh*
"Where in South Africa are you from?"
"Pietermaritzburg."
"I'm from Cape Town."
"Oh," she said. "Are you."
And turned away.
So on changing jobs, I merrily deleted all my bookmarks without bothering to save myself a copy, because I figured if they were that important to me I already knew them well enough anyway.
Of course I now can't for the life of me remember where to find that really nifty blog/discussion type place on the proper use of English.
I'm pretty sure I posted a link here once. But I really don't have time to trawl through my archives. So, to my fellow grammar geeks... if you happened to read it, and bookmark it... please help me out?
1. Choose your venue.
You can learn to ski on proper mountains an' all, while on a skiing holiday, or you can get lessons on an artificial slope before your holiday. Proper mountains are of course the prettiest, but you'll spend half your holiday doing idiotic tricks like hopping over your skis because the instructors have placed bets on which one has the most gullible lot of newbies.*
Artificial slopes come in two flavours: outdoors (using weird "snow-like" surfaces; personally I've never seen black, bristly snow, but what do I know)** or indoors (using actual snow). Both of these lack a certain glamour, but on the plus side, they're cheaper than proper ski resorts. Also, they are more likely to offer a fast-track 8-hour Ski in a Day lesson, as for instance at Milton Keynes.***
If you plump for this option, your friends will laugh at you and assure you it can't be done and you'll be exhausted by lunchtime and you're crazy. To them I say: "HA HA HAHAHAAA OUCH omigodihurtallover ouchy ouchy."
2. Wear proper gear
You need warm and waterproof clothing. The waterproof part is important, unless you're on one of those weird dry slopes. There may be some falling over involved. You can wear your own (remember to bring dry clothes to change into at the end of the day), you can hire suitable jackets etc, or you can borrow your boyfriend's at the last minute. I recommend the last option, since not only does it save you money, but with judicious application of snow, you can ensure that his jacket is far too wet for him to wear on the trip back home. It is important that he should suffer some discomfort, because he is going to be laughing at you (and possibly poking your bruises in a particularly sadistic fashion) for at least three days.
Depending on the rules of the slope, you may also have to wear a helmet. Even if it is not compulsory, do take one if you can get it. The great advantage of the helmet is that to some degree, it provides a cloak of anonymity, thus delaying the inevitable point at which the snow patrollers realise that you were at the centre of every one of the day's most spectacular pile-ups. With luck, and a really ugly helmet,**** you can delay this discovery until the end of your session, thus avoiding an embarrassing escort out and ban from the slopes.
3. Listen to your instructor. Watch your instructor. Obey your instructor.
Except when he says "You — you're looking good, follow me up to the number 2 slope."***** He may be under the impression you're doing well because you are zooting downhill at great speed and sliding up to the poma queue in one elegant swoop. But what he doesn't know is that you were trying to travel at half that pace, and in a completely different direction. Do not go up to the number 2 slope until you are able to descend as slowly as it is possible to move without actually coming to a grinding halt. Because the second you get up to number 2, you will realise that it is a whole lot steeper than it looked from down at number 1, and you're about 3 seconds away from another one of those excitingly dramatic swoopy descents, which is all very flashy and may attract applause from the peanut gallery, but ask yourself: can your nerves take the strain?
4. Develop a thick skin.
Your fellow beginners will be remarkably forgiving, thank god, even when you've scooped them up by the knee and whooshed them right into the netting with you. But the instructors may take to saying things like "here's trouble" and "oh... you again" as you approach. Remember that you are, out of the kindness of your heart, providing them with a rich vein of entertainment and pub stories, so what they're really saying is, "Thank you, o thou perfect comedienne!" Nod graciously, smile and swoop on. Just as soon as they've hauled you to your feet... again.
5. Develop a philosophical approach.
It's a little known fact, but skiing originated as a spiritual exercise among the more ascetic type of monk. The combined affront to personal dignity and mortification of the flesh is particularly good for your soul. So when you've just managed to fall over for the third time while standing completely still... embrace the humiliation. It's making you a better person.
6. Don't envy the snowboarders.
Sure, they're pulling all those sexy moves; but those are the only guys who are falling down more often than you.
7. Know your limits.
By the end of the day, you may find you're not improving so much; in fact, you will probably be finding simple things like hobbling to the poma, turning neatly, or indeed simply standing up, harder than before. It is only to be expected that your muscles will reach a point of exhaustion and you will lose some control. Remember, there is no shame in admitting you have had enough and taking a break, or even going home early.
Of course if you do, you're a lazy-assed pathetic wuss. But there's no shame in that.
8. Allow time for recovery.
Don't make any plans for the evening after your first lesson. Or the next day. Or the day after. It's only then that you will realise just what a whole-body exercise skiing really is. You may consider hiring a minion to accompany you at all times, taking care of such strenuous tasks as filling the kettle, or indeed lifting the teacup to your lips.
Although it's possible that skiiers who fall down less often (and hence have to push themselves up less often) don't experience quite so much pain in the upper arms.
_____
* They will tell you they are "getting you used to the equipment". Right. Because it's very important to be able to hop around in rigid boots when you're out there.
** Of course, that's the old type of surfacing. Nowadays there's a much better kind — white and everything — and those crazy French are slapping it all over their mine dumps. Saffers, take note: ski resorts, coming soon to Joburg!
*** A very odd town. Clean, well laid out, and resembling nothing so much as a giant business park. Or possibly Sasolburg.
**** Hired jackets have their uses here too, since they all come in the same colour.
***** I leave it to you to make your own jokes about "little accidents". This is a civilised blog, we don't go in for that sort of infantile humour.
