Wednesday 2 April 2014

Margo on Location



January to now has disappeared and I couldn't tell you where to.  I've been from Glasgow to St Albans and back again almost every week in what is probably the most boring non-world tour if two places constituted a tour at all.  This term I spent more time in Glasgow and enjoyed the space and time alone.  It's a bit daunting knowing my lovely little cell, covered floor to ceiling in books (they should really reconsider the lending limits at the university library - some people have substance abuse issues with dusty old books) is only my sanctuary for another few weeks and after that I'm in one place all the time.  I'm not sure how I feel about it.  Well, actually I probably do but perhaps a tale for another time …

This week I'm in Val Thorens "learning" to "ski".  I use both those terms very loosely because I seem to be incapable of learning how to career down a mountain, graceful as a gazelle without a care in the world.  My head rings with those several gym teachers who (rightly it turns out) pointed out that I'm "not very sporty" and should probably focus my efforts elsewhere - which of course I did once I could legally drink (maybe a bit before) by going out clubbing and drinking and flirting instead and leaving all the sporty stuff to girls called Penelope and Harriet and Pippa who it turns out are genetically predisposed to being sporty and usually especially good at bloody hockey.  They were never the ones who forgot their navy gym knickers or got giggled at by the teacher because they decided that their new rather snazzy basketball boots were more fun than plimsolls (even if not regulation uniform).  Anyway, the socialising side of things doesn't help when one's feet are strapped to fashioned bits of two by four,  you're being encouraged gently to fling yourself down the side of what feels like a sheer cliff face covered in ice and are possibly in the middle of an existential crisis (who wouldn't in that circumstance anyway - although still too young to be a mid-life crisis, yes?)  Actually, at the bottom it seems the nursery slopes are not that steep but it's almost impossible to fall up a mountain (although a friend of mine did once fall up some stairs on our way out of a bar which says something, no?) so my instinct is to mutiny and perch quietly atop the bloody thing and hope someone with a skidoo or a very strong line in piggy backs takes pity on me and carries me to the bottom.  I saw someone carry a toddler to the bottom so I'm not entirely giving up hope although a week of raclette and red wine makes it a fairly hefty proposition no doubt.

And I'm on a hiatus from making things because I've mostly been making words.  Last week I wrote in the region of 12,000 words, some of them not bad and in places even quite interesting.  There's actually nothing nicer than researching and writing; putting ideas on paper putting some body into them.  I'm in the process of reviewing a book for the university publication, and starting to research my dissertation topic in earnest.  A PhD application is slowly in the works too.  Today I spent three hours on the terrace in the sunshine, wrapped in blankets with my book on my lap but managed no work, because instead I became utterly bewitched by the people who actually can ski and snowboard, as they hurtled down the mountain looking utterly wonderful.  It's a spectacle, it really is, and such a privilege to get to see it.  Moaning is a displacement activity for secretly being in awe of people who can overcome what for me seems terrifying, and in the process they do amazing things and see amazing places.  Saying that, there's nothing nicer than sitting on the cable car in the sunshine, chatting to my very lovely, very patient ski instructor and watching the world go by.  Also, otherwise I'm essentially alone the rest of the time and being on my own is fantastic when I'm in places I know and less lovely otherwise because of hermit like tendencies.   Anyway it is always good to meet new and interesting people who give you a different perspective on things, is it not.  Perhaps another good reason to stop acting like the brat, sorry lion, at the top of the post.

There's also something very nice about a snowy place as the sun sets, the windows light up and get twinkly, and the world feels very contained and very cosy.  The sunshine's quite nice too …

Val Thorens and the sunny terrace … 




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