Brass monkeys

How times have changed.

Sitting in the chalet at Hotham after a hard day on the piste reading Bumps. Only this time, no, not some freestyle extreme, Pepsi Max, lumpy mogul madness ski mag but, yes, Bumps as in "How long after your beautiful and loving pregnancy should you wait to shag???" magazine Bumps.

And actually nodding at the articles.

In the cool light of day its cringeful.

But thats how it was on Master M's first trip to the snow. Or in this years case, not so much snow as extreme wind (as in all lifts closed bar one on one morning) and rain (as in "Hey, surely I wasn't the only one who had to wring out their Reg Grundies?" (thank you Simon) wet).

The drive up - all 7 hours of it - was largely uneventful, much to AB and Mistress P's delight and, admittedly, amazement. The lad slept much of the way, and even enjoyed a bit of a pitstop at the Bright Brewery to see his beer brewing friends.

That was until... the door was opened at the mountaintop to unload. And 40 knots of zero degreeC air (i.e., windchill of about -20) blasted through the interior of the ruby-Subarooby, and into the previously 24degC interior - and boy.

"What the goddamn hell was THAT!" he startled, with the most amazing surprise/shit-scared look a man of 3.75 months can muster.

"TAKE ME BACK TO THE TROPICS **NOW**!!!"

Which by that night it seemed he was. True to form, the lodge had its heating turned up to 11 and hence everyone baked medium rare in their beds. Including the other baby (Master A) and his parents sharing our room. Hence the first night was divided into sleep segments punctuated by crying/grizzling sessions from (and this is indeed the actual real life sequence)...

Master M
Master A
Master M
Master A
Master M (given a feed)
Master M
Master A
Master M

Not to mention the in-between times when parents tossed and turned in the heat and/or ripped off several of those "Its not my fault, it's the low pressure at altitude" room-gassing fartlets, interspersed with a few clunky, bashing, "better not wake the others" (but you do) blind-man wall bouncing trips to the toot.

It was hence a stagger of snow-zombies who emerged the next morning.

Master A also managed a beauty of a conjunctivitis outbreak on day 2, though luckily it didn't spread to the rest of the room.
"I had a nightmare we'd find him in the morning with his eyes glued permanently shut." said Dr D (a.k.a his dad).
(Don't worry - we think he's ok now.)

When the temperature was restored to normal Master M managed to sleep through the night, as did all the mums and dads. (Well, apart from the loo stops.) Of course someone re-cranked the lodge to 11 for the final night just for a laugh, so the living dead re-emerged just in time for the drive home...

During the daylight hours however, and being a bit young for genuine snow play or even a backpack about the cross country trails, lil' Mike got to be carried about in the baby-bjorn; to the village for a hot-choc, to the bus for a trip to the dog sled races (but bus was too full so...), to Bertrand's new unit for a view of the valley and a bit of Frenching up (pity the valley was in cloud/rain - still, we'll take Bertrands word for the great vista) etc etc.

The only ignomy for Master M of all this tootling about in the great outdoors was being forced to wear socks in lieu of gloves.

"I mean... come on. Socks as gloves? I'm trying to impress the laaaydees with my hot snowboard pants and I gotta wear socks as gloves?"

Sorry dude.

The lodge itself was crammed choc-full of kiddies and babies - easily the most we had seen in the 11 or 12 years we'd been visiting. In fact we were forced into a bit of a porta-cot shopping frenzy the day before leaving as there was a non-trivial risk of all the lodge cots being taken.

Mike appeared to like the cot at first... until he overheated one night, attempted to migrate to the cooler south and away from the blankets, only to find himself rammed into the cot-corner, all tangled in its hold-you-in mesh like some by-catch in a gill net. Which subsequently woke him, and possibly all those on the mountain, up. Again.

The crummy weather meant not that much piste time for mum and dad, but the boy didn't mind this one bit. With full parental focus, as well as lots of love and attention from others in the lodge, its now been decided that he's been officially spoiled rotten over the past couple of weeks.

But then, don't we all deserve a little lovin' now and then? Especially when its cold... Print this post