Ski Championships

First day of the winter holidays: a 6am start to head off to the World Ski Championships in Val d'Isere. Told you I was getting better! ... Okay, okay, I was going as a spectator, but I'm sure I'll be invited next year.

Five of us cram into a car and head off into the mountains, where we join a theme-park sized queue for a shuttle bus and receive lots of freebies, my favourite being the event pass with an in-built thermometer. It cheerfully tells us it's around freezing. I'd never have guessed. The bus driver eventualy turns off the looped message welcoming us to 'the event of our lives' in several languages and we listen to the men's downhill. The French champion prepares himself, he approaches the starting ramp, he launches off, and- ...we enter a tunnel. The Frenchies are not happy! We re-emerge just in time for his finish. Decide repressing mirth is optimal for survival.

The day is full of good surprises:
- Free drinks in the Salomon tent.
- The music accompanying the women's descent; carefully chosen to offend pretty much every nationality attending (Rammstein for the German competitor was a particular favourite).
- The Milka tent with free samples and no limit on coming out and immediately joining the queue again.
- The helicopter that lands near us then suddenly takes off with an enormous floodlight attached [picture to come]!

The best surprise is saved for the end. It's the slalom, the much-awaited final descent in the men's 'super-combo'. This is the big decider; the Event of Events. We position ourselves in the midst of the buzzing crowd, faces a-painted, flags a-waving. The French are confident of their success: they have several stars in the final. The commentator is equally cocky, gabbling on about the French skiers at every possible opportunity. It starts well: Frane quickly gains first and second place. An etranger steals second, but the crowd is confident of the two remaining national heroes providing a spangling set of medals.

Remaining national hero number 1 arises. The hope of a nation, an inspirational rolemodel, the star of the country.
He stacks it. Crashes straight into a pole and goes arse over tit into the slope sweepers (by every slalom gate there is a team of people who frantically sweep up after each skier). The crowd is not happy. No fear, for Remaining French Hero is here! He steps up, flashes the camera a winning smile and, in one of the best examples of deja vu, promptly whacks into a pole. Every French person in the audience whimpers slightly.

A few obscure competitors crawl down at the 'unimpressive' speed of several hudnred kilometres and hour and France starts to celebrate. Two of the top three places guaranteed. A party atmosphere sneaks into the crowd and has a quick boogey around. Even the commentator is waxing lyrical about the great triumph. Eventually, he pauses and says there still remains one last competitor; some bloke from Norway who had a spectacular groin-slicing injury last season. "Let's give him a round of applause to make him feel better" is the rather patronising encouragement. The crowd half-heartedly responds, engrossed in France's prancing victors on the interview stand.

ZOOM - a lycra bullet whizzes past and easily takes first place.
Truly a slap in the face with a soggy mackerel for France. Bloody hilarious! We leave before some moustachioed and heartbroken fan sees our glee and bursts into tears.

All in all, a cracking day out.