Mr Special Goes Skiing

Mr Special goes Skiing...3^rd June, 2013

One of the very first gifts Mr Special, the Romance King of the south west, gave me was a shiny new pair of Blundstone boots, you can imagine my excitement...My elation grew threefold with the receiving of his second romantic gesture...a hockey stick...there I was, holding back tears of... joy!  But, as they say, it’s the thought that counts...& so, I felt it my obligation to give him a gift he would never forget...a week’s skiing!  Ahhh, the memories....

To begin with, Mr Special was suited up in an outfit one could only describe as ‘Farmer Pete meets Day Tripper Bogan’....Day Tripper Bogans are those individuals who turn up to ski resorts en masse in very tight black stretch jeans, footy scarf (normally Collingwood) & balaclava, for a day of less-than-fabulous fun in the snow, beginning with a large outdoor family picnic in an inconvenient thoroughfare somewhere, followed up with an out of control trip down an advanced ski run in a big black garbage bag & ending with one or more of their party being taken away on a gurney! 

What happened next I never could have predicted...me & Mr Special hit the bunny slopes & I bravely began trying to teach a couple of basics.  Had I no sooner ‘begun’, than it ‘began’...THE LANGUAGE...ooh the language, (The Carpenter’s would have passed out!).

That week I heard words that were so bad, I’m sure some of them hadn’t yet been invented...!

Suddenly, as I was envisioning myself being married to a foul mouthed, uncoordinated farmer for the rest of my life, a light at our seemingly endless tunnel....a Celebrity Sighting! 

As Farmer ‘Foul Mouth’ was flailing about on the snow looking like an octopus stuck in a string bag, still muttering foul obscenities under his breath...he paused...he pointed, (I think I saw a smile!)...“look,...it’s Dipper!!”...a wave...a reciprocal wave...again a pause, then a reluctant resumption of octopus antics.  It may have been fleeting, but suddenly, something had happened in his day, something that wasn’t quite so ‘shit house’!

 The sighting of a personality is always a key highlight on Mr Special’s trips to Melbourne...Patty Newton, Vince Colosimo, Robert ‘Dipper’ DiPierdomenico (Hawthorn Legend!), Geoffrey Rush, all the big stars!  These can elicit a smile from Pete in even the most horrendous of situations.  Bless his little cotton socks, for the only celebrity he often sees, in his mind...& any shiny surface throughout the day...is himself!!

The highlight for me on our ill-fated week of adventure was what I like to call, ‘When the Farmer Slammed the Vision in White’. 

‘twas just another normal day of swearing & horrendous weather when me & ‘Eddie the Eagle’ got to the top of the chair lift, (always a time of inconceivable amounts of sweating & stress...from me), when the inevitable occurred, immense collateral damage! It was always on the cards, but up until this point Pete had miraculously only managed to take himself out on the slopes. 

Mr Special’s unintended victim was what is commonly referred to as the ‘Professional Apre Skiier’.  A woman, generally, dressed in figure hugging ski gear, which is as impractical as it is expensive, & only buys a ski ticket for the purpose of hopping from one bar or restaurant to another.  She is generally called Fi, Marion, Rochelle or Beverley, & spends her winter holidays lounging by an open fire, sipping gluwein & trying to hook a man who earns at least six figures (in a good week!).  So can imagine her delight at being rugby tackled by Mr Special, ‘Farmer Extraordinaire’...sporting his massive floppy thermal red beanie, Simmental spray jacket, extremely cracked lips & bright red nose.  Not even an impromptu performance of ‘Georgia’ was going to get him out of this one!

It all started innocently enough, we were getting ready to ‘disembark’ the chairlift, Pete was on the left, I was in the middle...& Ms Apre Ski, (MAS), was about to get smashed!  Once we got off the chair we were meant to veer left, as directly in front of us was a mass of metal barricading.  However, although Pete’s brain & upper body was clued in to what we were meant to be doing, his legs & skis had other ideas.  I just managed to get out of his ‘flight path’, & as I stood, horrified at what was unfolding before me, my eyes filled with tears...SMASH...straight into the metal barricade, ‘MAS’ went down like a sack of proverbial gourmet spuds..”Oh dear, Farmer Pete had maimed the Prom Queen...someone get the gurney!”

Sadly, the fluffy rabbit fur that had previously adorned the collar of her brilliant white ski jacket was all mangled & looked like a limp wet ferret hanging about her neck.  Her hair, which had been coiffed to perfection earlier that morning, looked a little worse for wear, but the best part was the unbelievably evil greasy she gave him, if looks could kill, she’d be deadlier than him! 

I was no help...I was laughing so hard, I fell over!