With another new year upon us there seems to be the annual onslaught of traditional New Year’s resolutions. Those being, misguided challenges set by people for themselves of promises that, will likely, never materialise. I too, despite being fully aware that any such rules set on the 1st will be broken by the 3rd, have set myself some golden rules. My diet was broken by lunch time that day and ‘dry January’ latest, coincidentally as long as my New Year’s Eve hangover did.
Generally speaking, however, it is safe to say, that the past year has been a good one. Lady luck has been kind to me and, most shockingly perhaps, I have even found myself in a relationship that has lasted longer than 2 months. I wouldn’t want to curse the situation by adding this to my list of things to maintain in 2013 but am quite inspired by the thought that it might span two calendar years. (I must remember to meet men on the 31st of December in the future and be able to say that more often.)
Despite looking forward to a new year with a man who I don’t find irritating, I am anticipating that the honeymoon period may come to an abrupt end in approximately 6 weeks, for I have been invited to ski with the man in question.
This, my friends, is not a good thing.
In life there are two types of women. Those who ski and those who don’t. I am one that doesn’t. Traditionally speaking, I go on holiday armed with little more than a book, a bikini and the intention of getting a little cooked/pissed in the sun. In fact, it is pretty fair to say, that I list doing bugger all as a number one pastime whilst away. A loafer, a sloth, a half baked lazy bitch who recognises walking to the pool bar as an ‘activity’ when holidaying. Who ‘exhausts’ herself with spending 2 hours deliberating what to eat that evening. Yes, folks, that’s me.
And then the skier.
A woman so energised and enthusiastic, so rosy cheeked and plumped with excitement at the crisp snow capped mountains she makes Jessica Ennis look like Coleen Rooney. This woman I am not.
In a bid to ease myself into the realisation that I am about to, not only be active on a holiday, but be active on a holiday in front of the man I am having sex with, I decided to refer to Google for reassurance -
‘Skiing is a thrilling sport that can satiate anyone’s need to an adrenaline rush by enabling the individual to slide down slopes on a pair of skis’
Satiate my need for an adrenaline rush?? I live in Camden for fuck’s sake, making it home from work without being mugged by 8 knife wielding youths does that on a daily basis! Skiing isn’t an adrenaline rush, it is a way of ensuring that your boyfriend pretends to have a fatal accident off piste in a bid to jump the first plane to the nearest neighbouring country with a mountain, never to be seen again!
An absolute guaranteed certainty of this holiday, people; I will not look sweet and vulnerable trying out a new sport, I will look like a woman with severe learning disabilities who has had 2 bottles of vodka for breakfast.
Added to which I have left it far to late to involve myself in any indoor lessons, or the like, and, quite frankly, the thought of spending my much loved Saturdays in Milton Keynes having pre-ski skiing lesson is enough to want to make me break both legs before I’ve even got on the plane.
There are some silver linings of course, I am told apres ski is right up my street and there is no need to launch into any pre-holiday starvation diet plan given that I’ll be wearing more clothes than Sir Edmund Hillary (The clothes, don’t get me started on the clothes). The spas are excellent and plentiful, I’ve always quite fancied myself lounging al fresco in a hot tub with nothing but a bottle of something fizzy to shield my modesty and, of course, it is delightful that I have been asked in the first place. Nothing says ‘Don’t worry I’ll still fancy you when you get there’ like a long weekend in the French Alps … God love his deluded soul.
To conclude, I think it is safe to say, instinctively I would be slightly less anxious about a week in Dubai. That being said, it’s a new year, a new challenge, and hey, if it’s good enough for Bridget Jones …