The Trip South

Sorry for the delay in posting but difficulty in loading up the web, so here goes:
Well the car did turn out to be the Tardis and with the Old gits finally finishing the packing & clearing, we tested the car suspension by driving down to the local pub; a mile away. Relief mingled with farewells, and far too much beer and wine was consumed, certainly as we had a five o’clock start. As usual I had to be at the Euro Tunnel several hours earlier than needed, (a habit that incenses my family), but it all turned out well as we were boarded on the earlier train. This was fortunate as our first night was in Epernay a lot further away than I had thought.
Our Sat Nav managed to find this small old chateau, a stones throw from Epernay’s Avenue De Champagne, still owned by Mr Chandon. In typical OGGY (Old Gits Gap Year) style we threw the bags into the room and headed into the old town. The continuing gloomy economic news at home meant we needed to deaden the pain so we found a champagne bar. We were of course just tasting the wine so we could buy a bottle or two, but with little food all day the result of a few sampling glasses must have looked quite amusing. Male old git knocked over a glass cutting himself and female couldn’t remember which ones we had tasted so we had to start again. Eventually we fell into the crisp night air which compounded our condition and we entered the nearest restaurant to try and soak up some of the wine…
The next morn we were walking down the Avenue de Champagne when we received a call from our eldest son to announce he had passed his final exam and was now qualified. We took the call standing out the Moet & Chandon Champagne House and we just had to go in and buy him a present…bang went the budget for the day, well actually nearly a ruddy week.
A pleasant three hour drive to Beaune saw a remarkably similar story as the previous night, only the colour of the wine was darker…
The weather was still very cold and the next day we made our way to Essert Romand, near Les Gets. Once again bags were hurriedly thrown into our apartment and we changed into ski wear and onto the slopes to meet our ski instructor. Not many slopes were open at this time of year and the incredible fall of snow had caught everyone by surprise, I had been lucky not to have used the infernal snow chains; but only just. One can never tire of an Alpine view; it really was a chocolate box scene. As you skied down a slope and with bright blue skies, white mountain peaks and wooden chalets clinging to the mountain sides, immersed in a shroud of white it took your breath away. You could hear the silence except when a group of noisy snow boarders descended past you to promptly sit in the middle of the piste, blocking your way.
Our instructor had expected a little better from us since we had last met, but we skied like tired pregnant ducks. He gritted his teeth as I announced I would hope to be carving down black runs after two lessons. He was too polite to comment. We returned to the chalet to unpack, via a supermarket and blew another week’s budget on food and drink, only to be faced with a power cut. Fortunately our landlord fixed the problem and the task of unpacking made the old gits mutter and curse as tiredness took over.
The next morning was sunny and crisp cold another ski lesson beckoned; we were here at last…

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