So, I am half-way down Mount Slushmore in the low-lying French Alps and running through my mind are three thoughts:
1. My right knee hurts; should I wear my old-man knee support tomorrow?
2. Next year perhaps we should go to Colorado?
3. Did I really just spend eighteen euros on two plates of chips and an orangina?
And I slide slushily past a couple of bright pink and green skiers, verlcroed to a safety pole on the edge of the piste and at the top of a vertiginous drop. Mt Blanc clearly visible in the distance.
And as I go by I she says to him, quite quietly, "but darling, I AM panicking"
And he says: "did you see that sly hat"
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