Hiatus...

Thursday Morning

Whilst packing, Husband opened the fridge. "Oho! What have we here?" he asked. (Well, he didn't actually sound like a minor character from a detective story, but it makes good copy). In that spooky married way, I knew exactly what he was talking about, and answered - somewhat spikily, I will agree - "I've been on my own with the kids for five days. Want to make something of it?"

He was, of course, referring to the blasted chocolate eggs....

Thursday Evening

Fifty three sets of instructions, two stressed parents, one rebellious Boy 1, a heartbreakingly sweet Boy #2, and a number of terse exchanges over the suitcases, and we finally managed to leave. And I won't bore you with tales of rude check-in assistants, rude waitresses or rude shop assistants at Heathrow Terminal 4 because frankly, I can't believe I made it that far.

I spent the time before our flight left expecting my phone to start vibrating with dire news from the Home Front any minute, but forced myself to make hay whilst the sun shines and forget all about broken plastic steps, thermometers, and Karvol, and reached once more for my glass of of red...

Friday Evening

Skiing without the kids is fine, except for one thing. There is - how can I put it - an 'expectation' that one will do more skiing than with the kids. Not by anyone else, I hasten to add. No, just from my subconsious 'Mrs Should' who's main job in life is to stop me taking it too easy whenever I get the chance.

However, I was strong. I consigned her to the broom cupboard at the back of my mind (to mumble and mutter to herself about calories burnt in a morning on skis not actually being balanced out by the vast amount of sugar in just one hot chocolate), and after a fun morning spent swooshing around with no technique and a great deal of effort, I rewarded myself and spent this afternoon sunning myself outside a bar on the slopes. I mean, somebody had to...

Of course, ostensibly I was keeping Husband company. He realised in the morning that after lugging his ski boots all the way the over to France, he couldn't actually fit his bandaged toe inside them - and that the bandage was unlikely to come off in the double quick time he was hoping for. Blast - obviously those superman pills he was taking didn't work, then...

Saturday Evening

I. Can. Hardly. Move.

So much for those sessions down the gym getting my skiing legs into gear. Although of course the fact that my skinny (pre-babies) ski trousers still don't fit should probably have given me a clue on that one...

This morning we got a transfer to another part of the ski area, and took a scarily high chair lift up into Avoriaz.

My god. I have never seen so many Brits in one place with snow. It's a bit more egalitarian than some resorts I've been to though; not quite as Fendi Fur and Prada sunnies as Courchevel (which is more Moscow-on-the-Slopes than Chelsea these days), not quite as PARTAAY PARTAAY PARTAAY!!! as Val Thorens (if you're over 18 then they issue you with Botox when you arrive), and not quite as sloaney as Val d'Isere (which has nowadays been renamed Val de Sloane Square, I'm told).

(To illustrate my point on Val 'Isere, I once joined a ski class there with a woman called - wait for it - Plum. Her REAL name. Every time we skied around a corner she would spot someone she knew and bellow: "Poochey! (or similar). Hellaaaiiir! How simply faaaaaabulous to seeeeee you! Meet you at Dick's t-bar with Chin-less for a spot of vino later?" I'm not joking, by the way. This really happened).

By the way, if you're interested, we were actually staying in Les Gets this time round. A bit low but still ski-able even towards the end of March, and very family friendly. Not that we had ours with us, but I would recommend it if you are thinking of going with your kids. And the hotel was pretty good too; 3 star (so basic, but with all you need), a good location 3 minutes walk from one lift and 5 from another, and very friendly helpful staff. Which, if you have any experience of French ski resorts, is not ever a given... (Hotel L'Ours Blanc, Les Gets)

Sunday Evening

Home again. But not before a morning spent creaking through fresh snow on empty slopes and wishing we were staying just a couple of days longer. Husband, on the other hand, was delighted to leave, having ascertained that there was a not an English or Dutch language newspaper less than 2 days old for a 20 mile radius, and that consuming your body-weight in melted cheese and dried meats in the evening followed by a dearth of exercise the next day due to a damaged foot does not lead to an enormous sense of well-being.

Frankly, I think he handled it all admirably well. I'm sure I was a lot more bad-tempered when I spent 5 miserable days sat at the bottom of an Austrian Alp watching everyone else ski their socks off whilst I was pregnant with Boy #1. Still. Now we're quits...

The boys, of course, were delighted to see us when we picked them up. Boy #1 even took his eyes off watching a dvd of 'Madagascar' for long enough to glance in our direction.

Monday Evening

Took the Boys to a birthday party this afternoon where Boy #1 got the resident face painter to turn him into a lion before racing around the room shouting "Who's the cat? I'm the cat! Who's the cat? I'm the cat..." He then refused to answer to his name, responding only to 'Alex', the name of the lion in Madagascar. I hope he hasn't been doing that all day at school. Makes a mother proud, really...

And the chocolate is now - almost - all gone. The box and one bag of eggs were delived to Mother-in-Law to thank her for looking after our little pashas. Husband opened the fridge door and saw the few lonely eggs left in what remained of the other bag, and got quite excited. "Chocolate! I'd forgotten about that being there!" As I bit gloomily into an apple, I answered "And that is the difference between men and women..."

I mean, forgotten...?