How d'you ski again?

Thursday dawned, cooler (hurrah) and, thankfully, hangover free. I headed up the mountain, full of hopes of a great days skiing - it had all been going so well on Wednesday afternoon...surely it would continue to do so. No, turns out skiing doesn't actually work that way.

Once again, we went straight up to Grimod (and this time I didn't want to spew on either of the gondolas!), and began preparations. It started well on the areas we'd skiied yesterday. And then...I forgot how to ski. Seriously. I forgot how to ski - it is the only possible explanation for the hour or so which I spent mostly on my arse, falling over at every available opportunity. It was just embarrassing. I blame Gorgeous George. He kept on telling me off for going at the end (I was meant to be at the back in my role as 'teacher'...) and for not going quickly - apparently I was good enough that I should be going faster. So I tried. And then the falling commenced. And the falling didn't stop. It was horrific. Fortunately, the idiocy passed, at least until the afternoon when I had a 30 minute or so relapse. The falls weren't especially horrific, more entertaining and embarrassing - especially the one when the only thing that stopped me sliding the ENTIRE way down the run was the snowdrift gathered by my ass, but damage was still done. At some point in the day I twisted my knee (actually, I think it was a series of small twists...) and by the end of the day I was feeling less than chipper.

This lack of chipperness was not helped at all by the fact that I was dehydrated, having given the majority of my water to idiot children who hadn't had the sense to refill their bottle at lunch, and one idiot child in particular who was convinced that she'd broken her pinkie in a fall in which she "almost died". My arse. I must confess to having very little sympathy to start with, but fortunately my lack of sympathy was echoed by other adults when we rejoined the main group at the end of the day and it was decided that no, a trip to the med centre for x-rays really wasn't required.

A hot shower and a nap back at the hotel (not to mention the several nurofen and litre of water which I necked) helped my mood considerably, and after dinner I was fully prepped for the Tournament of Tournaments! AKA Bowling Night: Teachers vs Pupils! The Team to Beat was widely considered to be the S4s, but, contrary to all expectations, and despite the best efforts of Beth & I to totally scupper all hopes, the Teachers came from behind to thoroughly trounce the pupils. It was actually kindof beautiful... And largely due to the innate competitiveness which seems to surface in all PE teachers at even the whiff of some sort of sporting challenge.

The night was improved upon when one of the S2s, against all the odds, succeeded in one of those giant-claw-type machines and won a huge Scrat (the funky squirrel-type beastie with the acorn from Ice Age). However, this was somewhat counteracted by a slight medical emergency in the form of a MAJOR nosebleed that kept me confined to the toilet trying to stauch the bood flow for about 45 mins, and ended up in a trip to A&E for Beth and poor unfortunate pupil who then had to spend the rest of the trip with what can only be described as a tampon shoved up her right nostril.

PS: As something of an appendix to the Tale of the Nostril, on Tuesday morning I was greeted by said pupil bouncing across the classroom shouting "Look Miss, look! It's out!!" Something I was equally glad about and responded to by bouncing up and down, grinning hugely, and repeating "It's out, it's out!!" in a spectacularly professional manner!