- 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
‘Can’t believe you took the
dog……………
madder than I thought’. I opened my sister’s text in our cottage in the woods in on the edge of Abetone.
The host town of the famous Pinocchio Children’s Race is a on the border between
Tuscany and Emilia Romagna and something of a backwater; the only dog friendly
accommodation I had been able to find was in the backwater of that backwater,
but what is lacked in facilities it made up for in charm. And the sun was
shining: a good thing as I had a lot of walking to do
I like to describe the dog as a project, though mistake might be more accurate. A German
Shepherd cross collie, Whisky was weaned too early and on his fourth home by the
time we got him He is basically quite people friendly until crossed. Apparently I was ‘chosen’ by the rescue out of 30 applicants (because I have ‘mug’tattooed on my forehead?). The timing of his arrival, six weeks before the start of the ski season, was far from ideal, and he exhausted or terrorised, three different house sitters before I
decided that his issues were sufficiently serious that I had to get him a passport.
If allowed to travel loose in the car Whisky bites people’s ears so during our three week tour of Europe’s race slopes, the boot of the Subaru was taken up by his cage. This really only caused a serious problem for lap one of the journey where Honi and Lucky had to share the back seat with all the luggage, and apparently Lucky’s breath was not very pleasant. They were pleased to be deposited with my parents in Sussex, Honi to get a lift to Gatwick for a flight to Pisa with the Children’s team, and Lucky for the holiday of a lifetime.
Tim and I crossed the tunnel and spent a pleasant enough first night in a Logis de France just outside Calais. When we arrived we strolled down to the local Abbey with Whisky in tow and he didn’t bite any one. He stayed quietly in the car while we ate the type of simple and inexpensive but delicious meal that the French do so well, and in his cage in our bathroom overnight. The next morning a mist had settled over the valley, so that the visible buildings seemed to be floating on a cloud, and I felt pleased to have a reason to out at in the early hours and walk the quiet country lanes.
I had great hopes for our travels.
Then we arrived in Flaine for an overnight stop to break the 17 hour journey and I discovered that the snow blew Whisky’s mind. Not ideal when one plans to spend
three weeks in ski resorts. I didn’t expect it to be easy for me as I have such
tender memories of Xiong charging up and down of the rocky hillside like a little mountain goat but nor did I expect to be sliding round on the end of an animal that appeared possessed.
I told myself it was probably a reaction to being cooped in the car for so long and Abetone would be much better.
Which it was, in the cottage in the woods, where the snow had long since melted, but the reason for our travels was to watch Honi ski race. So on day one I hopefully trudged up to the bottom of the piste to find that, even if we could get over the snow phobia, the
noise of skis on snow freaked him out completely. I retired to the café to give him a break, only to find that we were surrounded by loud and clumpy Italian skiers all wanting to caress the dog. Now in my crash course in dog psychology, Iesson one is that if you have a dominant dog (which Whisky is), then ignore it. But I can’t say that in Italian so it was back to the car park, where we wandered in an out of cars for hours on end, and I popped him back in the boot in time to catch Honi’s runs.
Three weeks on I have a dog that is the model of good behaviour – in a car park which is
where we spent most of our time. The snow thing did improved marginally and
anyway it has been superseded in my recall by the low point of the trip which was the 48 hours of vomiting in a studio apartment in Meribel. I have also done car parks in my pyjamas.
Watching the British Children’s in races is actually about watching a scoreboard, which I managed to do from a distance. By week three I had discovered the squeezy bottle deterrent so, armed with that in one hand and neurotic dog and poo bag in the other, I had a modicum of control, but little opportunity to interact with other parents or skiers.
The final race, the Giant Slalom was a key one for Honi as she needed a clear win to retain her Overall Children’s title. Wanting to be a bit closer to the action, I decided to try the marquee as I had noticed that the corner furthest from the refreshments, and behind the scoreboard, was usually empty. My thinking was that, on the raised boards, the noise of skis on snow would not carry and Whisky would be calmer. And he was, so much so that I
decided I might grab a plastic chair and sit down. That meant taking off my back pack (no hands for a hand bag) so I swung it from my shoulder onto the table on which the scoreboard was standing. Rather precariously, I discovered,as, as my back pack hit the table, the scoreboard pitched forward on the heads of the scorers. Whisky and I decided to go for a walk.
From a great distance I saw Honi take the lead by nearly three seconds, on a tough and icy course that was not for the faint hearted. I was invited for a celebratory lunch by her team, but couldn’t see Whisky surrounded by Monster burgers so I ate a sandwich and went for a walk instead.
My thought was to wear dog out so I could take some photos of the prize giving. But the prize giving was an hour earlier than in previous years, and banished from any interaction with other humans as I had been, I hadn’t got the message so I was trudging up a hill while Honi topped the podium. Words still fail me on this one.
So another season ends.
dog……………
madder than I thought’. I opened my sister’s text in our cottage in the woods in on the edge of Abetone.
The host town of the famous Pinocchio Children’s Race is a on the border between
Tuscany and Emilia Romagna and something of a backwater; the only dog friendly
accommodation I had been able to find was in the backwater of that backwater,
but what is lacked in facilities it made up for in charm. And the sun was
shining: a good thing as I had a lot of walking to do
I like to describe the dog as a project, though mistake might be more accurate. A German
Shepherd cross collie, Whisky was weaned too early and on his fourth home by the
time we got him He is basically quite people friendly until crossed. Apparently I was ‘chosen’ by the rescue out of 30 applicants (because I have ‘mug’tattooed on my forehead?). The timing of his arrival, six weeks before the start of the ski season, was far from ideal, and he exhausted or terrorised, three different house sitters before I
decided that his issues were sufficiently serious that I had to get him a passport.
If allowed to travel loose in the car Whisky bites people’s ears so during our three week tour of Europe’s race slopes, the boot of the Subaru was taken up by his cage. This really only caused a serious problem for lap one of the journey where Honi and Lucky had to share the back seat with all the luggage, and apparently Lucky’s breath was not very pleasant. They were pleased to be deposited with my parents in Sussex, Honi to get a lift to Gatwick for a flight to Pisa with the Children’s team, and Lucky for the holiday of a lifetime.
Tim and I crossed the tunnel and spent a pleasant enough first night in a Logis de France just outside Calais. When we arrived we strolled down to the local Abbey with Whisky in tow and he didn’t bite any one. He stayed quietly in the car while we ate the type of simple and inexpensive but delicious meal that the French do so well, and in his cage in our bathroom overnight. The next morning a mist had settled over the valley, so that the visible buildings seemed to be floating on a cloud, and I felt pleased to have a reason to out at in the early hours and walk the quiet country lanes.
I had great hopes for our travels.
Then we arrived in Flaine for an overnight stop to break the 17 hour journey and I discovered that the snow blew Whisky’s mind. Not ideal when one plans to spend
three weeks in ski resorts. I didn’t expect it to be easy for me as I have such
tender memories of Xiong charging up and down of the rocky hillside like a little mountain goat but nor did I expect to be sliding round on the end of an animal that appeared possessed.
I told myself it was probably a reaction to being cooped in the car for so long and Abetone would be much better.
Which it was, in the cottage in the woods, where the snow had long since melted, but the reason for our travels was to watch Honi ski race. So on day one I hopefully trudged up to the bottom of the piste to find that, even if we could get over the snow phobia, the
noise of skis on snow freaked him out completely. I retired to the café to give him a break, only to find that we were surrounded by loud and clumpy Italian skiers all wanting to caress the dog. Now in my crash course in dog psychology, Iesson one is that if you have a dominant dog (which Whisky is), then ignore it. But I can’t say that in Italian so it was back to the car park, where we wandered in an out of cars for hours on end, and I popped him back in the boot in time to catch Honi’s runs.
Three weeks on I have a dog that is the model of good behaviour – in a car park which is
where we spent most of our time. The snow thing did improved marginally and
anyway it has been superseded in my recall by the low point of the trip which was the 48 hours of vomiting in a studio apartment in Meribel. I have also done car parks in my pyjamas.
Watching the British Children’s in races is actually about watching a scoreboard, which I managed to do from a distance. By week three I had discovered the squeezy bottle deterrent so, armed with that in one hand and neurotic dog and poo bag in the other, I had a modicum of control, but little opportunity to interact with other parents or skiers.
The final race, the Giant Slalom was a key one for Honi as she needed a clear win to retain her Overall Children’s title. Wanting to be a bit closer to the action, I decided to try the marquee as I had noticed that the corner furthest from the refreshments, and behind the scoreboard, was usually empty. My thinking was that, on the raised boards, the noise of skis on snow would not carry and Whisky would be calmer. And he was, so much so that I
decided I might grab a plastic chair and sit down. That meant taking off my back pack (no hands for a hand bag) so I swung it from my shoulder onto the table on which the scoreboard was standing. Rather precariously, I discovered,as, as my back pack hit the table, the scoreboard pitched forward on the heads of the scorers. Whisky and I decided to go for a walk.
From a great distance I saw Honi take the lead by nearly three seconds, on a tough and icy course that was not for the faint hearted. I was invited for a celebratory lunch by her team, but couldn’t see Whisky surrounded by Monster burgers so I ate a sandwich and went for a walk instead.
My thought was to wear dog out so I could take some photos of the prize giving. But the prize giving was an hour earlier than in previous years, and banished from any interaction with other humans as I had been, I hadn’t got the message so I was trudging up a hill while Honi topped the podium. Words still fail me on this one.
So another season ends.