By Lucy Keown
Ski trip chat is just the best isn’t it? Every year, the really super cool people who travel to the snow-topped mountains of Europe for a week on the slopes come back with the best stories I’ve ever heard. Like ever. In the last few years, GUSSC has brought Glasgow University students to Les Deux Alpes, Val Thorens, and this year to Tignes. Or Twenty-Four-Tignes, as I’ve heard (or more accurately seen all over Facebook) it’s being called. Such a catchy and witty name, am I right?
The problem I have is that all I really want to do when told the skiing escapades of a bunch of my friends and acquaintances, let alone what they got up to on their nights out, is zone out and think of happier times before they thought they were Pros of the Piste and could spend their Christmas holidays, during which some of us had to work (ever heard of the concept, hardship/bank-of-mum-and-dad funded skiers?), having a really bloody great time all Soop-ed up in France. La Folie Douce-bags.
And yes, while it’s good to learn who slept with who in the bunk bed of their room, and who was ‘Queen of the Narks’ at apres-ski (whatever that means), please think of us little people here. We weren’t there. We really and truly feel bad enough about it already, thanks. And although I’m sure I’m coming across as really apathetic and happy with my week spent alone in my flat with only the mice and mould for company, the truth is I’m pretty jealous. And maybe a tad bitter.
So for all you who did Tignes ’14, please, find it in your heart to shut the hell up and keep the ski chat to a minimum when amongst those of us who weren’t away with you, did not receive a super cliquey (but actually really nice) bobble hat and have not had the ‘best week of my life’ that you all have. We physically cannot take any more of this talk.
(My Ski Trip Fund 2015 already has a tenner in it.)
With thanks to the several hour long contributions from my lovely flatmates Saoirse Toner and Hannah Brown. Dicks.