It’s winter as I look at some of my fellow bloggers stuck in the snow. Here in the U.K. we have been pretty much free of the cold white stuff.
Once I went in search of snow capped mountains for a ski-ing holiday. The thing is I do not know how to ski. On my first trip up the slopes I kept falling over. Later in the day I found myself with a friend off-piste in a forest. By now night is encroaching. The forest is getting thicker and thicker until any hope of turning back is lost. As I was frequently tumbling and the forest was getting thicker, it was decided that we take our ski’s off and walk down the mountain. It is pitch dark, and the snow is at least knee high as we wade downwards through the forest to an open field. And downwards. Skis on my shoulders. I swear I can hear a wolf howling. And downwards. Then saved by a road! In the middle of nowhere. We follow it to the nearest building, turns out to be a bar, on the other side of the mountain. Over a hot chocolate I whisper to my friend: ‘I thought we’d never come back from that one.’
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