Gormless-ness Insurance

Next week I will be making an utter Fochaber of myself by pretending that I have bottomless reserves of cool and can snowboard exactly like someone who does not have my unique "gifts" in the realm of physical prowess.

Every year I imagine myself, poised at the top of the slope, ready to glide down as if born to ride, maybe carving a few turns deep enough to lazily allow my hand to drift over the surface of the powder. Steep patch? No problem! I can turn the board as if it is on rails. The sky is an unlikely shade of blue, the mountains are like swarovski crystal and I glide along with mindblowing skill. In my mind.

Reality is more like this: Warmly bundled, my be-bootened form is as graceful as a rollerskating polar bear. (This year's boots more streamlined look are an improvement on last year's, which made me look like 2005's elephantiasis sufferer of the year.) This level of padding is enough to impede my balance, never mind my non-existent boarding ability. I've seen horrifying videos: my vast arse pushed out behind me like an airbag, knees bent, face as per Donald Sutherland pointing out the non pod-person in "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" virtually catatonic with fear, hands flailing like Tyrannasaurus Rex reaching for a bowl of mashed potatoes.

Why do I insist on putting myself through it? Petrushka* only knows, maybe it has something to do with the rush of pure joy and ecstasy caused by reaching the bottom without breaking any bones, gashing flesh open with my own board, or cracking my skull open on a passing skier**. Any accusations that the happiness I feel is caused by imbibing luscious quantities of Vin Chaud (or "hotbooze") will be ridiculed while I knock back another shot and start snorting/giggling helplessly into it.

In any case I am taking no chances. I have doubled up on the holiday insurance.

*She's as likely to know as anyone else.
**If anyone can do it I can.

Updating Your Ass

'Cos it's just so yesterday.

I know it, I am lazy. I spent my two week Christmas break lolling about the house, increasing my waist size by consuming fat-based food and listlessly spending money that I do not yet have, on things that I don't need.

Gob Less Visa.

I could try to turn inactivity into some sort of art-form, but that would be too much like work.

Frankly, little has changed since last I wrote, dear diary, besides the following:

• I invented a miniature jet propulsion suit for dogs which has really taken off in Japan.
• I took up air hockey professionally.
• I now know exactly what hedgehogs having sex sound like*.
  

One of the above may be true. Or not. I have also taken up being non committal about most things. That's all folks, nothing to see here. Move along, move along.

*Grunt, grunt grunt. Groo! Grunt grunt. Seeing as how as you asked.