Skiing

Last Saturday I got up at 3.30am to take the 12 year old and my 15 year old “nephew” (one of the relatives-who’s-not-related) skiing for the day. It was a 3 ½ hour winding drive in the dark and fog, but was well worth it when we arrived in brilliant sunshine.

I’d not been to Mt Buller for many years – since the friends we used to go with so rudely moved to the UK for 5 years (yes Penny, I’m talking about you!) When the kids were little, we had seven very happy consecutive years when we went for a week with a whole pile of families.

It turned out to be quite do-able for a day and next time I’ll even take the little one and pop her into ski school for the day.

I put the 12 year old into a lesson, as she hadn’t skied since the shopping mall in Dubai at Christmas – and that’s not quite the same thing. My nephew and I are pretty well matched so managed to get in some good runs before collecting her. In my usual gentle mothering style, I then insisted she just come with us and promised we wouldn’t do any black runs, just blue.

“It looks really steep!” she moaned.

“Oh for god’s sake you’ll be fine! Just get on the lift,” I said in my short tone used on the kids when they're being wimpy.

And of course she was fine, keeping up with a thigh-burning snow plough!

When we got home, the little one said, ‘How was the skiing? Was it inside or outside?’ Yes, she too was last at the Dubai mall……