The Bear and I are wondering what to do with our penultimate night in Canada (and our final night in Whistler.) The Bear wants to meet some new people. I want to sit in a corner of a restaurant with my book, a bottle of wine and some food that I will regret eating an hour later.
Over breakfast I decided to make a list. This was ostensibly in order to make notes for tonights journal entry, but mainly to take my mind off the fact that the waitress had underwear more visible than The Bear's, and its rude to stare. So - here we go:
Lost evenings - 2
Units of alcohol consumed - (numeric overflow error)
New people met - 12
Number of days I skiied - 7
Number of falls - 2
Number of different ski instructors - 5
These were:
Paul - an Australian with an affected Californian accent.
Sara - a Canadian who gets a little uptight about swearing. Unfortunate, when my principle method of skiing is to say "fuck" most of the time.
Hiro - a charming and entirely unintelligable Japanese woman. Her main mode of communication was to shout "Up! Up!" a lot. What she meant was anyone's guess.
Barrie - a Canadian who had a spiritual approach to skiing: "Be one with the skis, dude". Eh? "One with slope" is more my style.
Eric - another Canadian with a somewhat lassez faire attitude to tuition: "Ya, you guys ski down and I'll watch you from here. Ya. That was great. Lesson's over."
Yep. I had a good time. The bear has talked me into one more night out. Photos to follow.
