- Untitled
- The season begins
- Jan 2010
- Feb 2010
- March 2010
- April 2010
- May 2010
- Ski Pictures 2010
- June 2010
- July 2010
- August 2010
- September 2010
- October 2010
- Late October
- November
- December 2010
- January 2011
- February
- The European Youth Olympic Festival
- March 2011
- The season ends
- May and June 2011
- End of June
- July
- August in Yorkshire
- September 2011
- 28 October 2011
- November/December 2011
- Season 2012
- February 2012
- March and April
- June
- 'Summer' 2012
A tale of two irons
I had a mega clear out in Flaine over Christmas. I sorted through
ten year’s worth of landfill that had stuffed, and re-stuffed from time to time,
Christmas stockings and bran tubs. The French don’t seem to go into charity
shops in a big way, and I have never located the local tip so I left a pile of
unwieldy bags in the on the top bunk for Tim who was driving back mid February,
after watching Honi at the English Championships in Bormio
The same bags then cluttered up the garage for an uncomfortable
period of time until I decided to tackle it in stages. I am a familiar face at
our local tip, as we seem to produce far more bottles than the bi monthly pick
up allows for and also an extra-ordinary amount of cardboard (which sort of
negates the environmental benefits of ordering on line, as I try to tell those
who sit at the computer and order but never go to the dump) so I decided to
start by getting rid of the with the myriad of obsolete phone chargers and other
non functioning electrical bits. At the same time I off-loaded the pullovers,
fleeces, and woolly thermals that ‘no-one wears’ anymore thanks to the advent of
skins, leaving just the landfill which is designated for some unsuspecting
nursery school when I get round to it.
And that was the end of that. Until Honi, fired up from a successful week in Bormio, decided to prepare her skis for her next training week and couldn’t find her iron. Now one of my few talents is my ability to locate missing items pretty immediately from the chaos which is our life,because they are not really missing but in the last place someone put them. I knew, therefore, straight away, that I had only seen one iron recently, and
that was the one without a knob that had been hanging round Flaine for years and that I
had taken to the dump about a week previously.
‘Where did you last have it?’ I asked cautiously, getting a rather cold feeling in the bottom of my stomach.
‘I gave it Dad to bring back from Bormio’.
‘What colour is it?’
‘Yellow.’
The iron I took to the tip was yellow. As I thought about it I
couldn’t remember checking if it was knob-less or with knob. To be fair I wasn’t
expecting a second iron to be competing for the privilege of being recycled.
There was only one way to find out. I took a good delve in the landfill bag and
there was the broken iron. Oops.