(An Eight Year-old’s) Guide To
Ski-ing (as written in the half-term
essay for the class)
This half-term we went on holiday
Daddy said that we were off to ski
I’d no idea what he was on about
It seemed like a barmy idea to me
There was problems at the airport
When we was flying out that day
The baggage-handlers went on strike
And in the lounge we had to stay
Daddy spent a long time worrying
About whether there’d be any snow
Because even if there wasn’t
He said we’d still be forced to go
But when we got there it was ice and powder
The weather was absolutely freezing
And even Mummy was quite happy
Until my sister started sneezing
So she was confined to bed
Which didn’t really bother me
But the rest of us got out our equipment
And got ourselves prepared to ski
We all had bright blue puffa jackets
Over the top of thermal ski-suits
We had goggles and gloves with toggles
And ski-pants and pairs of massive boots
And we drove off to the ski-lift
To the top of the mountain if you will
Then slid all the way back down again
It’s a thing they call “downhill”
I couldn’t see the point of what we did
Slaloming down that dangerous drop
We’d only just get to the safety of the bottom
Then we’d simply head back to the top!
And we did that all the blooming day
Repeatedly riding up and sliding down
Oh, and drinking lots of gluh-wein
Before we made it back to town
Then we all came back in high spirits
We’d had a good day - that was easy to see
Then we ate and drank all night
In something known as “apres-ski”
It must have been the Alpine atmosphere
Or the charms of where we stayed
Because Mummy became suspicious
And caught Daddy kissing the chalet-maid
Well, she wasn’t very happy
And shouted at him, called him a beast
And wasn’t going to put up with it
Nor let him think he could go off-piste
Next day we was under a bit of a cloud
And Daddy said he wasn’t having any fun
So he stalked off all on his own
To tackle something called a “black run”
Apparently he wasn’t supposed to do that
Everyone told him that it wasn’t any joke
But he still went off and hit a tree
And that’s how his leg got broke
So he was carted off to the hospital
In another town in France
Which was when Mummy discovered
That we didn’t have enough insurance
He was put in traction and in plaster
To heal his fractured limb
The credit card bill just grew and grew
And things were looking rather grim.
Then the weather turned much worse
With raging blizzards that made us blanch
And we were trapped for two days
The town was buried by an avalanche
And when we finally made it home
Mummy and Daddy wouldn’t even talk
I don’t think we’ll be going ski-ing again
Well – not until Daddy learns to walk.
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