Burberry Pooch Pouches

'Stand in' post from Potty Mummy's sister.

PM is either winging her way to Russia or sitting in the departures lounge trying to keep Boys # 1 and 2 occupied with approved reading, unscheduled snacks and the sight of several planes on the tarmac. Boy #1 will be happy with the snacks. Boy #2 has probably found his way into a cockpit and is trying to gain a slot for take off from an unsuspecting air traffic controller...'but exactly where in Russia, Flight Bravo Alpha niner-three?...We don't have any co-ordinates for ice skates and a pool.'

Anyway, she's asked me to keep her blog warm with a guest post until she bundles kids and husband into slankets and snow boots, closes the door behind them and pulls the laptop from the priority baggage. I'm missing her already, but won't go into that, or else will start crying into the keyboard.

I've just returned from a stupidly expensive ski trip to eastern Canada. Thirty Canadian dollars for a glass of Moet (THIRTY?) led to us wandering around the hotel on New Year's Eve clutching a carrier bag containing a bottle of duty-free champagne and several glasses of various shapes and sizes borrowed from several of our party's rooms. Well, after having to tip enough during the previous few days to pay back the Icelandic debt, I thought we were entitled to a break from the spending.

We had a great holiday, despite the expense, (I had to sit down with a stiff drink after settling the bar bill. D'oh! There goes another thirty dollars). We spent Christmas Day morning with friends on the slopes, husband and son on double blacks, me trundling down easy blues and were back in time for a huge breakfast and then gift exchange. As Master Card says - priceless. And he should know, we paid him enough for the pleasure.

However, the holiday did confirm to me that I have A Problem. Its been creeping up on me for a few years. First, the realisation that the less people have to say of anything of substance, the louder they speak. I learned that one in queues in airports, shops, restaurants - any place where people gather in annoying numbers (i.e. over 4), and invade my personal space (i.e. stand within 10 feet of me).

My Problem has now reached the point where everyone, other than friends and family, annoys me on holiday:

The couple staying in the seventh floor Gold Suites (my nirvana...I will get there one day) who wore sunglasses inside - they annoyed me.

The three pre teen boys who kept playing with their hair, wore skinny jeans and were allowed to roam at all hours around the resort with their own credit cards - they annoyed me, (well, I think they would have annoyed anyone).

The woman who came and sat on the fireplace ledge in front of me, blocking out my heat - she annoyed me.

The people who fell off the chair lifts, thus causing it to slow down - they annoyed me (oh, how quickly I forget).

And when I say 'annoy', I mean that seethe with a silent, low level but unhealthy rage until I can't bear it and have to start a quiet, half whispered rant to my husband about the unsuspecting perpetrator of the latest crime. 'See that woman over there? The one with the two small dogs in tartan baby slings? There, the one with the furry boots and the son in the stetson? Can't you see? The one with sunglasses and implants? Well, she's wearing really annoying perfume...'

I will have to address The Problem soon. If this carries on, I'll end up like my dad (see previous PM posts for more details) or will drive my husband to some sort of breakdown. He's already started humming tunelessly every time someone wearing a fur coat or a slightly large hat comes into view. And I've noticed that he rocks backwards and forwards very gently if we're sitting in a restaurant near someone talking to their children in the third person...'Zander, Mummy would really like you to try another mouthful. Would you, darling? Or would you like a biscuit? Juice? Would Zander like juice?' Zander would like to be left in peace with a Power Rangers comic and no questions asked, but that's as likely as me joining another Reading Group. Don't ask.

Anyway, I digress. I've decided to tackle The Problem. And have booked another ski trip. To France for half term. Busy pistes. Expensive beer. Airport queues. Lots and lots of loud braying types, (alas, no small pooches in Burberry carry pouches, but you can't have it all). If this doesn't cure me, nothing will. At least, that's what I'll say to the bank manager when I explain the hefty overdraft.

Happy New Year, everyone!