Mai oui, I know you’ve not heard from me for a couple of days. Pardon, allé skier or gone skiing en France.
Or falling off the magic carpet (more of that later) and snow ploughing down the green slopes.
It is, of course, a job to get me out of my four-poster bed in my chalet Davos with breathtaking views of those mountains I’ll be tackling later.
And Rosie, our woman of all talents knows my form.
From when she had to wake me in Interlaken in Switzerland and I left the shower running through the breakfast room ceiling.
Chalet La France
Our chalet, Davos, you may associate with that economic summit when our leaders discuss how they can squeeze more money out of us.
For our party in our summit of chalets next to the Val d’Isere it is all about the giving.
They give you Champagne, wine, beer, daily breakfasts, lunches and evening meals.
All delivered with a smile to your door every day… and you do not even have to get out of your jacuzzi or sauna to collect it.
But those frosted mountains compel you to get out there to play on their slopes.
Although the most fun fellow skiers can have is at the expense of a snow white-bearded falling face first onto the slope.
In my defence the conveyor belt taking you through the tunnel up the incline to start comes to a juddering halt.
Before you can take your snow plough position.
No enfants were injured in the making of this post.
Only the pride of an oul fella who should know better.
Mind you, I did hold my own when it came to the apres and if you let me catch my breath I’ll gather my thoughts and share that in my next post.
From the highest cabaret in the world, La Folie Douce.
For now apols again for my tardiness et Pardon, allé skier en France.