A White Christmas

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The four of us went away for Christmas making an opportunity for some family bonding whilst avoiding the excesses of the Yuletide festivities at home. We escaped to the French Alps with its guarantee of snow at Christmas and skiing.

There was a time when Mister E and I used to dream about spending winters in retirement in a chalet in a mega ski resort. Trouble is they were fantasies of two much younger people. We had a superb trip but the reality is that we can’t ski like we used to; we now feel the pain despite covering less distance. We don’t sleep well at altitude and have developed an aversion to going out in bad weather. We now trail along behind our younger family members whereas once we led the pack or, when they were very young, even skied with them between our knees. Our muscles were stiff in the morning and I still can’t bend without aching.

Reality has crept in. Amongst the oldest people on the piste, skiing can no longer be the high priority for retirement that we once thought it would be. Smaller resorts, gentler slopes and a few hours on sunnier days will inevitably be more our scene in the future. 

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