The Ski Demon
‘Fire is a very serious matter and not to be laughed at Charlie’, boomed TC from the stage of Les Avals, our training ground for the past week. All eyes fixed on Charlie as he tried to contain his laughter. Fire indeed is no laughing matter, but faced with Gary Yates, stood behind TC and making faces and gestures; it was hard for any of us to keep a straight face.
I’ll introduce myself, my name is Rob Cooper and I am in the middle of training to be a ski host for Ski Olympic. Not three weeks ago I was sat in my office in Hull connecting my one and only phone of the day when I received a call from Brian, a friend of mine who joins me in marshalling at Silverstone race circuit every couple of months. ‘Hi, Rob, I was wondering if you still wanted to buy my caravan as I’m off to France
Browsing through the site I clicked on the first option I came to and rattled off an email, as I’d done many times before, without a care in the world should they be bothered to reply, and soon I was off to more gadget related sites to see what Nokia had dreamed up this month. As a mobile phone consultant I try to keep abreast of the technology market.
4pm and it’s time to meet Kirsty, my partner for a swift Guinness before trudging off to the bowling alley in a desperate attempt to stay top of the Monday Night Doubles League, a sport I seem to be lucky at. Scotland the Brave took me by surprise as my mobile went off, checking the caller ID I noticed it was a Doncaster number, ah that will be Nigel, my friend who runs Cusworth’s bike shop in Princes Street, I’m due to visit him tomorrow to pick up my new Monkey bike, long story but I’m doing lejog (Lands End to John O’Groats) in June on the Monkey Bike for the RNLI.
‘Hello’ came down the phone, ‘Is that Rob? This is Jarrod from Ski Olympic; I’ve received your email.’ Bloody hell, I thought, that was quick, it can only have been left my outbox not ten minutes ago. ‘Er, yeah’, I reply, and we enter into a conversation about Kirsty, myself, and the whole ski season…….
‘Well, I think we should meet up’, says Jarrod, ‘When can you get to Doncaster ?’ .. OK, I’m now pinching myself, is this for real? ‘Well , I’, heading over that way tomorrow to Cusworths, ‘I could come by, say around 11?’ ‘Sure thing, see you then.’
The office was easy to find, just round the corner from Cusworths, just as Jarrod had described. On entering the building we were greeted by a rather cheerful chap by the name of Gary Yates. Throughout the two hour interview it seemed Gary
The next three weeks sort of flew by as Kirsty and I prepared for our epic adventure, Jesus, I’ve not been out of the country for more than two weeks at a time, what do I pack, who do I tell? Time was spent getting things organised, banks, direct debits, phone accounts, I even had to hand over the secretary’s post of the bowling league to Scarlett. Most evenings were spent copying files onto my laptop so I could still operate out in France
Before long, Wed 5th December was upon us and I had to leave Kirsty in Leicester as I headed off to Luton , armed with only a letter from |Ski Olympic confirming my employment and a flight number. The world’s supply of luggage and a few quid in my pocket in case Easy Jet were a bit strict on weight allowances. As it happens, I was the first there and when I approached the check in desk it seemed they all knew who I was, my luggage was loaded and I was handed a boarding card.
That seemed painless enough so its off to the bar for my last Guiness for a good few months. I picked a quiet corner with a good vantage point; my mission was to spot similar waifs and strays to myself and try to make new friends early in the trip. Nothing! Nobody! Surely I can’t be the only one flying out? Can’t be, but everyone else is wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase, not exactly the attire for a budding ski bum.
‘Flight DY376 to Geneva Birmingham
Touchdown in Geneva Sandy
After fits of laughter from Mr Munro, he quietly explained, ‘You’re having a laugh, these days are spent getting things ready for the rest of the team when they arrive, you’re going to be hovering, dusting and cleaning everything from the hotel to the fleet of vans we have.’ ‘I take it you’ve done this thing before then?’ ‘Yeah, it’s my second season.’ Oh well, cleaning’s not beneath me, after all my mother runs a cleaning company, so I’ll just get on with it. As we approached Courchevel 1650, I could see the snow on the mountains and thought to myself, this is going to be tough, not being able to ski for a while. During my 20 years of ski holidays I was always the one who got into resort and was off up the mountain before even bothering to unpack.
As Kirsty was joining me in a few days, I was shown to a nice double room and given a couple of hours to rest and unpack. Pretty pointless I thought as its taken me three weeks to get this lot in the bag, might as well leave it where it is till I get my chalet allocated to me. As I stepped out onto the balcony to have my first cigarette I noticed something very odd about my room…. There were no pillows …or any bedding for that matter.
Training went on for 6 days, and I was joined on the Saturday by Kirsty, not a happy Kirsty either. Kirsty is like a keg of real ale and doesn’t travel well at all. Ten hours on a coach on her own with only a mad blonde girl called Nicky asleep on her lap was not the best cocktail for her. However a few cuddles and some quality time together she had started to come round, only to go into a blind panic over what she had let herself in for. ‘What if I can’t cook, what if they don’t like me?’ What if, what if…. I tried to reassure her but secretly I was going through exactly the same experience, so I doubt I was doing much good.
When the second wave of employees arrived the atmosphere changed almost immediately. You see, for the first few days the ski hosts, managers and bigwigs had had it drilled into them how important standards were. In fact it was like being back at school all over again. Designer stubble was banned, smart clothes were to be worn at all times and fingernails had to be scrubbed with Dettol twice a day!! The standards Ski Olympic were setting you would think Prince Charles was a customer! This I could deal with, I’m no stranger to high standards and live by the motto, ‘Be professional at all times and never leave yourself open to criticism’.
Then, like Eton meets Brixton, the second wave walks in. The volume went up and so did Nick’s blood pressure by the look of things. The real ski bums had arrived, mixed in with some wannabe hoorah henrys. I couldn’t help thinking to myself, what is going on; surely Gary Yates hasn’t interviewed this lot?
More training followed, ice driving to avalanche, accounts to hygiene, we covered the lot. I remember the accounts bit vividly. We were introduced to a guy called Robert Dobbin, Finance Manager. It seemed every penny, or euro to be totally PC, went through this guy and, reading between the lines, he never missed a cent. ‘An average of £400 is spent on our holidays’ he states, ‘after food, accommodation, transport, you guys and a host of other things, we make about £20 per holidaymaker’. After a quick calculation of beds x £20s I estimated a profit of around £80k for the season. Hardly worth all this effort I thought, but then he’s a good manager, he’s not going to stand there and tell us the company is making millions a year, that’s a sure fire way of getting your staff to revolt, I’ve seen it many a time. So £20 it is then. Hey, it’s not my money, I’m here for the experience not the readies. Enough for my 20 Bensons and the odd pint is all I need; after all, everything else is covered by the company.
‘Now let’s take a look at these account sheets,’ he says in an accent I’m not too sure of, it’s not French but it does have a twang. South African would be my guess. Robert always makes me feel at ease, maybe it’s because he is always smiling.
I was sat down, as were we all, with a manager, I happened to get Claire, a blonde version of Kirsty. We were given a sheet of made up credit cards (and the odd working men’s club card thrown in to catch us out!) and the lift pass & equipment requirements of some equally made up families. Fifteen minutes later the forms were filled in, much to the disgust of Claire who for some strange reason told me off for using my head and not the calculator to work out the figures. Despite the lack of confidence in my maths, the final figures were correct, so they made me do it again, in fact three times! All correct and finished by the time the rest of the group had finished their first set. Paperwork and figures I’ve been doing in my sleep for donkey’s years.
Learn the brochure….learn the brochure…..learn the brochure. It’s part of the end on test. Learn the bloody brochure.. 21 venues in 7 resorts (8 if you count 1550) 611 beds in total, 5 venues had bars, so become chalethotels, Gary
That night, dinner was to be a dress rehearsal for any night in our own chalets with certain members of the team playing out their roles for real. My position tonight was to serve water!!! A highly skilled and delicate job, not for the fainthearted. The managers tonight were to be Terry and Hillary Law… two names I will never forget, although I’ve heard hypnosis can cure the problem. My fellow water babes tonight were to be Matt (your bog standard New Zealander) and Philippa.
And we were off, two jugs per table, 8 tables, I make that 16 jugs in total, first round, a jug and a half consumed by one glass each…refill…again repeat, refill. We missed our first course but then no great loss there as leek soup never did appeal to me.. Refill…Refill…Refill…My estimations were 10 jugs per table so far, not long now till the first customer makes a break for freedom and heads for the WC. OK, now they have slowed down on their consumption, time to fill all their glasses and leave two fresh jugs on each table…this should give us three enough time to whack the chicken main course down our necks before the supply ran out.
Philippa and I sat down next to Kirsty as the dinner was served. Not two minutes later we were approached by a very panicky Hillary stating that table one ‘was running desperately low’ on water.. My God! It’s the end of the world as we know it, how can we possibly be trusted with any responsibilities ever again, we have failed miserably in our quest to turn the whole room into fish!! ‘I’ll go’, said Philippa, returning only moments later with a confused look on her face. ‘They have a jug and a half, and full glasses!’ she states. Maybe Phil looked on the wrong table, time for a global sweep of the jugs methinks! And I’m off in stealth mode, circumnavigating the dining room, water spotting! Nothing, not a single table needed a drop. I had just encountered my first Hillarying. On returning to my seat, now cold chicken on my plate, I sat and thought about the incident, why panic like that? I guess it’s OK; she must be on edge too, trying to create a good impression for her peers, not leaving anything to chance… How wrong was I? Over the next few months, and indeed the next few pages, I was to find out it was no panic, it was no stress, it was no impression creating…. It was Hillary Bloody Law!!!
UP on stage a very effervescent Gary Yates introduces us all to Mr Bernie Osbourne, the man who created Ski Olympic some 15 years ago. After a few one liners and the usual waffle, Mr Osbourne starts to explain the history of his company, a company he is obviously very proud of, and I don’t blame him, he has done extremely well indeed, and we all got the impression it hadn’t just landed in his lap. Bernie appeared to be a very hands-on, get them dirty sort of guy. His speech went on for what seemed like hours. It was only later that evening we found out that the chefs had burnt the crumble and Bernie was just buying them time to scrape the top layer off and make the thing presentable!
Two minutes to midnight, and it’s time out in the bar, just like any schoolboy at school it was curfew time, doors are locked at midnight and if you’re not in by then, you’re not getting in. It’s minus 6 according to the chemist so I’m not chancing it. I never did hear if anyone got caught out or not, and if they did, was Mr Yates that heartless that he would make them sleep outside, tricky one as rules are rules but then I guess the European commission of human rights would have a thing or two to say about it if they had, as they surely would have died overnight!
Sunday, after breakfast was the day we had all been waiting for, ski day! We could hardly wait; I rushed breakfast and willed Nick to hurry his speech up. No sooner had we been dismissed we were out of the door and waiting for the bus, I contemplated lighting up a cigarette when a rather angry TC shouted at Duncan Duncan
The shuttle bus arrived and we scrambled on like schoolkids on a day out. At the bottom of 1850 we waited for the boys to acquire our one day passes and we were off up the mountain to the top of Saulire. I was a tad anxious at this point, for two reasons, the first was a year ago on a trip to Flaine, I had a bad crash while speed trialling, and at around 70mph I came a cropper and bounced down the hill landing my left shoulder squarely on my binding. It wasn’t until I got home and was taken to hospital that I was informed I’d broken my collar bone, shoulder bone, fluid pouch under the shoulder cap and to top it all I’d broken a rib, which had punctured a lung, bruised my spleen and cracked a kneecap. Not a good day out at all. The other reason was easier, I’d bought a set of Salomon X Screams last season and chosen them to be a foot longer than I should have, don’t ask me why, but in a moment of madness back in Whistler I’d decided that they would be faster. The problem being, I’d never tried them out.
So here I am, in a group of almost definitely expert skiers, me never having had a lesson in my life, with ridiculously long fast skis, about to be tested on my ability. Let’s hope my 20 years skiing experience pays off!
‘OK’, says Bernie, (who happens to own Ski Olympic, thus putting the pressure on even more) ‘Let’s head down to the Biollay chair lift’ and off he sets. I figure I’ll fanny around with my boots and gloves for a while and ski down last so no one can see me until I’ve got my ski legs back again. As the last but one man sets off I pointed my skis down and off I went. My moment of madness in Whistler paid off as I shot down the run, gathering speed as I went, past George, John, Duncan, Jim Dave, in fact by the time we passed the mid station there was only Bernie in front. My old mate John Thompson popped up on my shoulder and whispered ’Not a good idea Rob, slow it down.’ A few carving turns later and I’d pulled up behind Bernie and cruised the last bit of the run to the chair. I like these skis I thought. As we boarded the chair I pulled out my GPS, it’s my favourite gadget, giving me all sorts of information, the bit? I was interested in this time was the max speed on that run, 65.7mph. Yes, I really do like these skis. Not that anyone will believe the GPS, but who cares, I know it’s accurate, I’ve sat it next to many a speed testing device and it’s always spot on.
Over the next few hours we skied everywhere, taking it in turns to practice our guiding, what fun that was, as most of us hadn’t a clue where the mountain went, or the names of any of the runs or lifts. I remember distinctly when it was my turn, ‘Guide from the back, shepherd your guests, and don’t lose anyone.’ This was becoming more and more tricky for me because one of my guests insisted on hanging back and constantly saying ‘Go on, son, don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine, you just go on ahead.’ Now was this a test or did Bernie really want to be left to ski at his own pace? None the less, I wasn’t leaving him, I’ll let the next guide deal with his freedom but right now he’s staying with me.
After lunch we were introduced to Tom, a ski instructor with the British ski school New Generation. ‘OK, you lot, all the virgins go with Tom for a lesson, Rob, George, John, Matt, off you go,’ says Bernie. ‘What about Duncan
Us virgins looked at each other and it was obvious what we were all thinking, oh, fine, we’re obviously NOT good enough then, charming! Tom was great however, very patient and understanding. He taught us that 20 years of practising our ‘feet together, shoulders down the fall line’ was now not PC and we should open our legs, stick our bums out and crouch forward, something I’ve been telling Kirsty for a while!!
‘Rock your ankles, face the direction of your skis…. Whoa… you might as well be teaching me to snowboard. I’ll try that manoeuvre on my days off I think, but for now I’m sticking with what I know.
Soon it was all over and we headed back to Les Avals with one word of warning from Dave Begg, ‘Don’t rave about your day out, say it was crap, or you will have the chalet-bound staff rioting against you lot.’ As we got off the bus a reassuring word from Bernie put a smile back in the camp ‘You’re al good enough to guide for Ski Olympic.’ You could see the sighs of relief wash over most of us. My thoughts were ‘bloody good job really as it’s a long way home to tell tour mates you are crap, you’d never live it down.’
Monday morning and we are all ushered into the dining room, chairs laid out theatre style, 74 of us all together. Up bounces Nick and Gary, full of the joys of spring. ‘OK everyone, pick a partner you don’t know, you have ten minutes to learn about them before you come back and stand up and introduce them to the rest of us.’
Sheer and utter panic gripped me, blood drained from like Dracula had been in town and minus 6 was nothing on the temperature I had gone… You see, I can’t do that, I can’t and never have been able to, stand up in front of a large group of people and deliver a speech, among other things I suffer from Familial Benign Essential Tremor, the few of you that have heard of Bill Werbernik will remember how he had to down 15 pints before a match… well he has the same disease, if you like, as I do. Under control the world is your oyster, but without medication (or alcohol, another cure) the panic attacks – cum – shakes throw you into a different world. Pure fear engulfs me and I measure around 4 on the Richter scale.
I’ve had hypnosis for it, I have pills (propranolol) from the doc, I’ve been given breathing exercises for it, but the only way I know how to deal with it is beer, and lots of it. It took me 8 pints to deliver a best man’s speech at my mate’s wedding and I knew all the guests! But this was teetotal….’Simon Johnson from Woodley, ski technician, beat Eddie the Eagle down a ski slope’… Gary
Doubt anyone could hear me with the tremble in my voice and the speed at which I spoke, an involuntary bodily reflex to get it over and done with. I couldn’t see the crowd as even my eyeballs were shaking, using the desk to support my wobbly legs, it was soon over and I collapsed back into my chair.
It was at this point I wondered if the job was for me, I mean, what if I get posted to a big old chalethotel and have to do that sort of thing every night? Well, that’s my mind made up, if that happens I’ve lost my £100 bond and I’m on the next train home. Time to scan the brochure again to sift out the possibilities and the no no’s.
Top of my list, Chalet Joseph in Meribel, 2nd Annabel or Bridgette. Big black mark against Les Avals, Chanrossa etc. Over the course of the next few hours I made a point of telling Nick, Gary
I sat and watched like a bird of prey waiting to swoop as Nick sat in the corner and countless hoards approached him with their recommendations…not that it would do any good as I think he had already planned where we all were going. Ah, my chance, as I sidled up to Nick, breath drawn, ready to say in an authoritative manner, ‘We would like…’ In true Nick style, I was cut short. ‘Shall I tell you where I’m thinking of placing you?’ ‘Er, yes, please.’ Came my humble , babbled, reply, once more struck with the Nick stick, ‘Chalet Joseph’ he replied… ‘Er, ok,, enough said.’ I mumbled and scurried off back to my table, embarrassed that I hadn’t delivered my authority but overjoyed with his decision. I hugged Kirsty as we both went into euphoria, and breathed a sigh of relief.
‘OK ladies and gentlemen’ beamed Gary 7:30 , then it’s the opening night of our bar here at Les Avals, Rocky’s opens to the public tonight, so let’s have a good one. Dismiss!!’
That night spirits were running high, not to mention the beer flow. It was the first time the whole group of us had had a chance to let our hair down, even if the place did shut at midnight . The band hammered out top tunes and we all danced, socialised and took photos of the whole thing. Little did we know that it was the last time some of us would ever see each other again.
The following morning after breakfast Terry, Hillary, Dan, George, John, Carmel, Corrin, Dylan, Dave, Anna, Kate, Kirsty and I were given two minibuses and headed out of Courchevel and off to our home town for the next five months, Meribel.
This was my team, not a bad bunch at all, John and George were my co-partner ski hosts, all of us virgins and friends at this point. Dan, the ski technician, a snowboarder by trade was so laid back he was almost horizontal, a nice chap who I figured I’d get on ok with, took his own car over to the resort, in fact, that’s the only fault I ever found in Dan, he drove a bloody Volvo!! Not a biker’s best friend.
As we arrived in Meribel, we all descended on Parc Alpin…, another two words I’ll never forget, they are to Terry and Hillary what Saddleworth Moor is to Ian and Myra Charlotte
At this point I have to mention that I’ve been in management for 16 years and know the basics at least on how to manage people…these guys haven’t even managed.. to..well.. open a packet of crisps successfully!!
After a couple of hours faffing about, we are finally shown to our new home, as lovely as it was, we just couldn’t wait to unpack for good and find out what we had left at home by mistake. Once in Joseph, we realised that we had some extensive cleaning to do as it looked like the place had been deserted for 6 months. First things first, get our quarters sorted. We did have the best accommodation known to Ski Olympic, with a double room, en suite and a dressing area, laundry room and a store room… Perfect for a couple, and even better for Kirsty and I as it was far posher than we had been used to.
Meribel, a ski resort founded in 1938 by the Brit, Peter Lindsay, takes its name from the Roman form ‘Mira Bellum’ beautiful view, and it is set in the valley of Les Allues Assyria by the Burgundy King Gondicaire, to make him the first Archbishop of Tarentaise, in thanks to him for spreading Christian religion. In 1282 the local people were exempted from paying taxes to the Archbishop and became known as the ‘Allodis’ freeholders or ‘Les Alleux’, hence the name. In 1938 the first lift was installed, a 31 seater fixed rope sled and the resort grew steadily until in 1950 Meribel was linked to Courchevel with the installation of the Burgin Saulire telecabin, and finally the 3 valleys were linked in 1960 with the opening of the Tougnete bubble, both lifts are still in operation today.
Half an hour after we had arrived there is a knock on the door and I’m whisked off by Robert and Terry to visit my ski hire shop and lift pass office. I hadn’t even had chance to open my suitcase, oh well, time will come. On entering Marine Sports I’m introduced to Rene, a middle aged Frenchman, not dissimilar to his namesake in ‘Allo Allo’, ‘I was just pissing by your ship..’ and all that. After an exchange in French between Robert and Rene, I got the gist that they were close friends and had done business for many a year, and there was I, a mere ski host, who spoke no French, expected to pass all of my business their way, hey, so what, no skin off my nose, just as long as they looked after my guests as well as I intended to.
Then it was off to the lift pass office, Robert drives like a Frenchman, I’m in the back of the Cavalier as we scream through Meribel, Terry in the front, we wiz under the Chaudanne bridge and almost handbrake it into the car park. No spaces so we drive onto the piste and park up. As the two in front jump out I realise there are child locks on the rear doors, not rocket science to get over these, just wind down the window and unhook the door from the outside, however the car starts to slide down the slope with me still inside, heading for the Tougnete lift station. A slightly worried Robert jumps back in to do something like check the handbrake, but the car is sliding regardless, Terry hits the bonnet and soon the car is at rest, with me in the back trying to contain my laughter. Moving swiftly on… we make our way to the office.
This bit made me smile, Robert meets Mari-Claude, waffles away in French, she replies in English and this goes on for a few minutes, until Robert gives up and converses in English, good god, the big man has come down a peg or two, still up there with the gods as far as I’m concerned, I may have even taken more notice if it wasn’t for the fact I just wanted to unpack and settle in. Soon the meeting was over and we had our agreed appointment time of 8:15am to pick up lift passes for our guests. Back to the chalet we went, please let me unpack now… Upon return I discovered Kirsty had been dragged off with Dylan and the gang, down to Moutiers to shop for the week, this was cool as it gave me time to get settled in. I’d brought a few things from England
Kirsty returned around 4pm and we set about tidying, not cleaning the chalet. Cleaning was set for tomorrow, when we had both planned to scrub the place from top to bottom. Not if Terry had his way, mind.
Wednesday morning and we were both summoned to Parc Alpin. After a short briefing, to which I paid bugger all attention to as it didn’t concern me or my chalet, I was ordered to rip out ski boot racks and paint varnish on the walls of Parc Alpin. I repeatedly stated that our chalet needed a lot of attention too, but this was dismissed as the ’royal PA’, as it was now known, had to be ready first. ‘Joseph doesn’t have any guests until Xmas week’, we were constantly told, so therefore this place needs to be ready first. ‘Don’t worry,’ said Hillary, ‘once this place is ready we will come down and help you get yours ready’. Somehow something told me this was bullshit, and we would be left in the lurch. A pet hate of mine, being stood up just to be knocked down again.
Thursday was a carbon copy of Wednesday, scrubbing, cleaning, building boot racks, screwing carpets down, you name it, we mucked in, not that we were tired or anything but Kirsty and I had been up till 4am the night before. Why? Well, as I said earlier, bullshit!! They were not going to help us, so after we were dismissed from duty at 10pm we went straight home and carried on scrubbing Joseph of its ill gotten gains of last season. We were going to be ready despite the hindrances we were experiencing, after all Robert and Nick had said, ‘You should be ready in case you get any last minute guests.’
During dinner on Thursday night it was decided by Mein Fuhrer that we could all have Friday off (free ski day to most). Time I thought to go check out the mountain; unlike the chalet girls, my day would be spent learning the runs, lifts and black spots, as well as enjoying a day on the piste, only my second in over a week. Although Saturday was allocated for this, with over 600k of piste to cover, I decided to use the time constructively.
I was hoping that this could be done with the other boys, John and George, but they had other plans. A couple of cute chalet girls had attracted their attention and requested some lessons, not from them but from New Generation. So off the boys set in the van to 1650 in order to drop the girls off for their lesson. Once there they shot off up the mountain for a few runs until the girls had finished. With them, the chefs, Dylan and Anna. At around 3:30pm Dylan announces he is off back to Parc Alpin ready to cook dinner. Anna thinks, ‘Hang on, it’s my turn’, but Dylan is adamant, so off he goes.
The lesson finishes and the gang meet up at the bottom of Verdons lift station, ‘Fancy a beer?’ shouts George. ‘Yeah, sure’, came the response, and off they head to our local whilst in training, Space Bar. Now the next bit is a bit foggy as you will understand when you finally figure out the Ski Olympic grapevine. However, from what I understand, John, the driver, had one half, or demi as it’s known out here, of beer, then proceeded to run the gang back to Meribel. Some conflict ensued and he was in the shit big time.. I mean, half a pint and driving, well he should be shot shouldn’t he???! Meanwhile, I’m being a good little ski host and getting completely lost, eventually making my way (with the help of my GPS) back to Parc Alpin.
As I entered the building I reached for my leatherman, as it was needed to cut through the atmosphere. Something was wrong, but nobody was saying a word. Once we were all there, Mr and Mrs Law unleashed a torrent of abuse, threats and general bad management vibes upon us all, just because John had had a half! Dylan had also dropped Anna in it when he returned that afternoon, by telling the bosses she was supposed to be cooking that night instead of him, talk about Judas. And what was more, we were all grounded for 24 hours. Mmmm… that’s a good idea. I was ordered up at 8am the following morning, the lads were too, and we were made to sit and do sweet FA until 4pm that afternoon. I’m still not sure to this day what the intended outcome was for this punishment, just a power trip I put it down to.
That night, dinner was taken at PA, all of the tables were pushed together to form one big unhappy family, where no one could slag anyone else off without the whole room hearing, so I guess we were all on our best behaviour, ‘Pass the bread, doll’, says Kirsty across the table to Corrin, ‘And the magic word is..?’ retorts Corrin. ‘Ooh sorry,’ came the reply, ‘Pleeeaassse can I have some bread?’ Another Hoorah Henry in the making. Most of the dinner passed in silence, with the odd mumble for bread across the table. After dinner the ski hosts sat down with Terry to work out the transfer grids. A reasonably simple spreadsheet, designed by Nick to ensure a smooth transfer of the entire guests to and from resort the following morning. Tomorrow should be the easiest as we no departing guests, only arriving ones. How wrong was I?
It transpired that George would go to the airport to host the coach to resort, John and I would drive to Moutiers at 7am to collect the guests coming in by coach from the UK
5:30am and I’m awake slightly before my alarm, quick dive through the shower and into my togs, smart black trousers and shoes, Ski Olympic top and Jacket done up. Very smart, I thought. 6am and I’m in the van to PA to pick up the guys. It’s a 2min drive and the roads were clear of traffic and snow. I swear I was in PA for no more than 5 minutes and as we ventured outside again there was two inches of snow on the road. A quick discussion and it was decided we wouldn’t need chains as its downhill all the way. The journey to Moutiers was horrendous, 10 miles of windy twisty mountain roads with thick snow on the ground and even more flying at the windscreen like rods of white steel. Half way down the snow turned to sleet and, eventually, rain. At least we were out of the snow.
My van, and one from Les enquires, were to pick up 12 guests and run them to their resort. As we set off Gary Monroe, the experienced host, turned the corner and headed off on the left hand side of the road. We went opposite ways round the two roundabouts before his van twitched and swerved back onto the right side again, much to the amusement of my passengers! We climbed the mountain road to Les Menuires and the snow on the ground got thicker and thicker until eventually we had no choice but to pull over and fit the chains.
On approaching the resort we rounded the last hairpin bend when Gary 10pm , something to do with flight delays, but by the time I got back to Joseph it was around midnight , I was knackered!
Our chalet didn’t have any guests this week so it was decided that I was to guide for PA’s guests, 30 of them and 3 guides. I ended up with Dave, Andy and Jacky. George had decided he was taking the rest and didn’t want these three. Andy and Jacky were armed police officers from Heathrow, she a snowboarder and he a skier. Dave was a friend of Terry’s so I decided it was best to keep my mouth shut as to what I thought of him, in front of Dave. Over the course of the week we covered some distance and visited many bars en route, as Jacky liked her beer. Andy wasn’t too keen on the stuff but wasn’t going to be seen to wuss in front of his wife to be!
I’m still in touch with them now, and they are due to return in March, armed this time with video tapes of Top Gear, which they have kindly recorded for me while I’m away.
Back at PA that evening I’m approached by a doctor and his two sons who asked where they could hire a snowboard. ‘Ok ,' I said, ‘there’s a place in the village on the middle road, two doors down from the Tavern’. ‘What’s it called?’ asked the doc. ‘Location se Skis’ I reply, as I’d spotted that on the shop sign. ‘Location de Skis?’ the doc exclaims. ‘Yeah, that’s the one.’ I said. He smiled at me with a knowing look and said ‘Ok, I’ll find it.’ That night, as I wandered into town, something was bugging me about his look. It became clear as I looked around… Location de Vehicles, Location de Medic.. Stood on my own in town I was bright red when it dawned on me, you see, if I was in England and someone had asked me where is the nearest food store and I was trying to describe Tescos, I was saying to this guy “‘every little helps’, that’s what it’s called!!!!” What a prat!
Transfer day approaches once more but this time we get some guests of our own, I’ve been wondering for a while now who I’ll be spending Christmas with. After a few runs to Moutiers the phone goes and it’s Terry, asking me to drive up and pick up my guests from PA, they had arrived. As I pulled down the drive I was greeted by Guy and Peter, along with 5 kids. It turns out that the two ladies in the party, plus grandma and granddad, had been shipped off separately, I’d meet them later. We piled in the van and off to Joseph. After they had all settled in it was time for welcome drinks and introductions, followed by dinner. My, soon to usual, speech went ok, I don’t have a problem with talking to a group of, say, 10 or 11 people, and soon I was wobbling away with the best of them.. No Smoking in the chalet, dinner at 7, boots off at the door etc..
Kirsty had rustled up a beautiful three course meal and we sat down to eat with the guests for the first time. Guy was a lawyer, his wife, Angie, a magistrate, Bev, a teacher and Peter a cookware salesman. Opa and Oma (Dutch for Grandpa and Grandma, as Mary came from Holland
It became apparent from the start that Guy and I would get on like a house on fire as the mickey taking started immediately. The fire I’d built was dying and, with the lack of kindling, I was finding it difficult to keep it going. Guy was loving this and ripping into me with much delight. This theme would be here to stay. After a couple of days on the mountain and with most of the connecting lifts closed, Guy decided he wanted to guide that day, and we were going to Val Thorens, a place he assured me he knew like the back of his hand. I agreed and let him carry on, however I still upheld my position and kept a close eye on the rest of the guests to see nothing went wrong.
As we approached the first of the lifts we needed to get across, it closed. And so on and so forth, every single connecting lift was closing as we neared them. I was laughing my head off watching Guy frantically plan a route that was clearly not going to happen! The pisteurs did not want hoards of skiers descending on VT and were making sure each and every lift needed was shut. Guy was still adamant we could make it, but I secretly knew he had no chance, and before long it was time to abandon any attempts and we turned back. It was time to get my own back and Guy copped for some real stick as we headed for home. The light faded and the clouds came in, soon we were in a total whiteout. I knew exactly where we were, and the route home. The kids, however, started to worry. It was at this point that Guy decided to carry Arthur down the rest of the way. In my backpack I had a ski sling, a gadget Brian had given me prior to the season. Using it to carry the lad’s skis on my back, like some sort of Robin Hood, I resumed control of the guiding and soon we were home safely.
Our room in the chalet is quite stuffy as we have to keep the window almost closed so that we don’t freeze. Because of this, first thing in the morning, I need to venture outside to get some air. It was on the first morning I decided to load all the guest’s skis on to the van, in order to keep warm as well as get fresh air. This operation was much appreciated by the guests and it has become the norm for the remainder of the season. Being half a mile from the slopes, and with reference in the brochure, I have to drive my guests to and from the slopes every day. When I first discovered this, I approached PA during our regular Saturday afternoon meeting, and asked who was going to drive, as I thought we three hosts could take it in turns. Without even thinking of the implications, the door was closed on me once more, and I was given the job solely.
Christmas morning, and the guests have decided to have a lie in and ski just in the afternoon, fine by us. Xmas music is playing on the stereo, courtesy of one of the gang who had brought a CD with them. As Kirsty and I enter the room after clearing snow from the driveway, we see the guests opening presents and drinking champagne, generally having a traditional family Christmas, something we had tried to avoid as we both feel Christmas is very over marketed and over rated. We were even given presents, which I thought as very sweet of them, even if I can’t stand whisky, no worries, I’m sure I can trade it with someone for Brandy.
Boxing Day, and I head to PA to collect some laundry for towel change day, I normally enter by the kitchen entrance and have a chat with Dylan on the way up. As I entered the kitchen there was TC, chopping onions. ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked. ‘Bloody chef quit two days ago’ he replied. It wasn’t until I got the full story later that I realised what had happened. George had been getting very emotional for some time now, and Christmas Eve proved too much for him. His attempts to woo Carmel England
I entered the office and approached Terry, ‘I need logs, wine, napkins and bin bags. Oh, and while I’m here, have you got any mouse traps?’ ‘Tough’, came the reply, ‘we have none of those items, so you will have to do without.’ Mmmm I’m thinking, how do I explain to my guests that we can’t look after them, like it says in the brochure, when we haven’t the kit to do it with. I’ll just do what we were told in training, call Gary Day, the stock and supplies controller. ‘Hi, Gary Gary Gary
Funny, but since that incident, I haven’t been short of anything, Gary
Remember how I wanted mousetraps? Well Kirsty kept finding droppings all over the place when we first moved in. Chocolate, I hear, is the best thing for catching them. Traps set, and on night one, we had our first victim. Three days later and his mate had been along every day and pinched the chocolate without setting the trap off. He got nicknamed Houdini mouse. Day four and I replace the chocolate with good old cheese and set the trap next to the cooker, on the work surface, the place we found most of the droppings. First thing the following morning I came into the kitchen to find not only the cheese gone, but the trap too! As I scratched my head trying to figure out what had happened, I heard a tapping coming from the lounge. The little blighter, trap around his neck, had pulled it onto the floor and was making a bid for freedom across the lounge! The cat ate well that day. Since then we haven’t seen any mice, or droppings for that matter.
Before we knew it, Saturday night was upon us, time for Gala Dinner, a Ski Olympic special.. well there’s a cheese course anyway! Awards are also presented and small prizes given for daft things the guests have done during their stay. The question was asked of Terry for some petty cash to buy the prizes, but you can guess the answer I got by now. The guests this week were great so Kirsty and I bought them some gifts from our own pocket. I knocked up some certificates on the laptop, and printed them out at PA. Staff are to wear black and white on the night, to give it some special ambience. Time to go one better, out came the tuxedo! Now a regular feature on Gala Night.
Needless to say, the kids got all the awards, with the exception of Guy, who got a compass and piste map, along with a tissue and cotton bud. (I forgot to mention, he regularly came to breakfast with shaving foam in his ears and each time I discreetly handed him a napkin and gestured what to do with it!) ‘What would it take for a guest to push you so far, you resorted to telling him to F’ off?’ says Guy later that evening. ‘Nothing,’ I replied, ‘no guest could ever push me that far, I may be thinking it but I’d never say it.’ ‘Ah, my mission then!’ says Guy.
Bright eyed and bushy tailed, we transferred our guests to the coach, it’s 7am on Sunday morning and transfer day is with us once more. After an emotional goodbye from the gang, Guy is the last to board the coach, along with Peter. Peter hands me an envelope and says ‘Tell me this is Ski Olympic policy. We all found it disgusting that you should put tip envelopes under our doors, after all you have been great hosts, there was no need for that.’ ‘Yeah,’ I replied, ‘not my choice I’m afraid.’ (That’s the last time we do that, I thought.) I remembered a poster I once saw at Orange
As Guy shook my hand I said to him, ‘Guy, in true Ski Olympic fashion, it’s our quest to give every customer everything they want..’ I leaned over and whispered in his ear, ‘F’ off!’ He burst out laughing and we have been in touch ever since, in fact he has booked to come and stay with us again in March.
Down at Moutiers the gang descend and the scene is something straight from a Les Dawson sketch, the gossip flying around was rife. ‘Gary
Next lot of guests happily delivered and it’s back to Joseph to turn it around and get ready for our lot to arrive. We had only just finished when they were ushered into the garage by Terry. The first up the stairs was Justine, the editor of Cover Magazine, very loud and full of beans. Her husband Hus, a teacher from south London
‘Where can I have a fag, I’m gagging for one?’ requests Alison. ‘I’m afraid it’s a no smoking chalet, so you will have to go out on to the terrace.’ I replied. After showing everyone around I returned to the lounge to find the SAS had been in with a scatter bomb, well at least that’s what it looked like. There were toys everywhere, a 4ft square Lego Harry Potter set dismantled and strewn throughout the building, paint pots and paper, colouring books and crayons littered the place. I took one look at Kirsty and her at me, we both shook our heads slightly. What a week this is going to be!
There’s a knock at the door and in walks Zoё from New Generation ski school. These guys had all booked lessons in the UK 9am , second lot at 11, pick up first lot at 1:30pm , next lot at 3. I did, however, get one day out on the snow, but only for a couple of hours.
New Year’s Eve and the guests daintily asked if we would mind having Wednesday off instead of Thursday, as Wednesday was New Year’s Day and they had no lessons but Thursday they were not looking forward to the walk. I’ll need to clear it with Terry, but that suits us better too. Surprisingly Terry agreed.
After a Gala Dinner event that evening the guests decide to stay in and have a quiet night in front of the fire and toast in the New Year that way. As we hadn’t bought any tickets (€55 just to get into most places) Kirsty and I decided to head for Cactus bar as that seemed to be the only place in town not charging on the door. A few beers later and it’s approaching midnight we set off for the town square. The place is heaving and 3 or 4 Scotsmen in kilts were prancing around playing bagpipes and hammering out Auld Lang Syne. The atmosphere was fantastic and before long we were back on the beer and dancing around with them. I can’t remember much of the rest of the night but I was sure glad of the day off! It must have been around two in the afternoon when we came round.
Some of the other members of the Ski Olympic team were not so lucky, as it emerged: 2 sprained ankles, 3 colds and countless hangovers had struck the northern bunch.
It had started snowing too, around 2 metres had been dumped over the weekend, something the resort had very much needed.
Transfer day once more and although they were a great crowd, I was not sad to see them leave. It had been hard work this week and not the job spec I’d hoped for. I was, after all, a ski host. I came here primarily to ski, not be a taxi driver. Above and beyond the call of duty and all that. Let’s see what next week has in store.
With the chalet cleaned and polished we awaited our new arrivals. Three, at least, I knew, Scarlett and Bruce, my landlords from the UK 3:30 , having flown to Lyon as Ski Olympic had decided to ditch Geneva Lyon is in France and therefore the EU, so no duty free fags this week then!
Joining the group were Simon, Ann and their son Tom, Paul and Vanessa, their friends from home, and a chap on his own, called Ron. Ron was an interesting character, a single chap who had been there, done that and remembered every bloody detail along the way! Throughout the week it was to be Ron and Darren I skied with. Ron never shut up throughout, explaining to us both how light, refracted from the sun off the top of the clouds, crated some sort of gamma explosion underneath and could only be seen when you stood on one leg drinking water from the back of a glass – or something like that! I shut off well before the explanation had been completed. Darren fell asleep on many a chair lift too.
Ron did come out with one useful piece of information during the week. We had just descended the Cime De Caron, a red run from the top of the highest point in the three valleys, it was three miles long and a drop of 4000ft, we completed the run in 15 minutes. Ron informed us it was the height of Ben Nevis that we had travelled. Being very chuffed with our achievements it became the weekly challenge to all my guests to complete this run and see what time we could manage in doing so. There were more explanations by Ron about altitude and his antics with the Shropshire singles society up Ben Nevis, but both Darren and I had learned to switch off while still giving the ‘I’m listening’ grunt every now and then!
The family kept themselves to themselves and we didn’t see much of them during the days, they did come out with us once or twice however. Paul and Ness befriended Scarlett and Bruce. Bruce didn’t come to ski, but to relax and take photographs. Scarlett joined ski school and progressed very well indeed, even if she did need someone to fit her boots every day!!
We covered some 200 miles that week, an experience Ron will never forget, he loved every minute and I think this experience is one he will be passing on to the singles club for many a Thursday night. Having Darren around helped me no end as he was a guide here in Meribel during the 1998/1999 season. I discovered restaurants that gave me a free lunch when I brought my guests in, runs that led to short cuts in the event of time being short and even free car parks where I could leave the van and not have to walk so far in the mornings. All in all a great week was had by all but it was next week I was looking forward to.
John and Jane Thompson, Dave Roper and Wayne Taylor had booked the chalet. These people I had skied with for many years and I got the impression it was going to be just like I was on holiday. They were still going to get the same upmarket treatment as anyone else but I knew their skiing abilities and knew I had a great week ahead.
Sunday transfer was to be relatively simple, drop off my guests at PA in the morning and wait for the coach from the airport to arrive at 3ish . Just as we had loaded the van at 6:45am John, the other host from PA pulls up in the driveway, ‘Rob, I need your van. The side window has been broken on mine and I have to go to Moutiers to fetch the GB coach people.’ Not sure how this happened, we shifted the luggage and off he went. My lot would be ok as it was only a two minute ride to PA, so we slung a blanket over the broken window and off we set.
Monday morning and we set off on the usual St Martin run, a run that has taken most guests all day to get to, and by the afternoon we were in Courchevel 1650, I just knew we were going to ski our little legs off this week. We met up for lunch with my cousin and in the afternoon the guys decided they wanted to do the Suisse run, a lovely steep black from the top of Saulire. GPS reset and ready to go, we set off down. Dave and Lawrence flew by me and within a few hundred yards there was the world’s biggest snow cloud. Not the kind that brings more snow but one created as they both stacked it big time. They were, however, on blades and the GPS reading was 74mph. Both were lucky to get up unscathed. In fits of laughter the rest joined us and we carried on.
It was decided the following day that the Cime De Caron was in order so off we headed over to the VT valley. Once on top of the mountain, boots were adjusted and the obligatory photographs taken, then it was time. Stopwatches set, GPS locked on, we are standing at 10600ft above sea level. Glasses polished and a countdown given…54321go go go… We are off, all 6 of us racing for the bottom, turning only with the mountain or to avoid a collision with some mad arse snowboarder, the lead was changing between Dave, Darren and I depending who managed to get the best racing line. The piste had been well groomed the night before and it was a dream to ski on… good job really as we hit almost 80mph in parts. Tears streaming down our faces as the cold mountain air screamed past our eyes, but this wasn’t slowing us at all, as we entered the last bend it was into the tuck position for the last half mile of relatively flat after what we had come down. Thighs burning as we approached Moutiers lift we came to a halt. 4 minutes 34 seconds, 3 miles, and now at 6600ft. Wow, what a run! Beat that anyone; it would be some time before any guest gets close. Even Jane and John came in under 10 minutes.
I’ve been here for five weeks now and still not stacked it yet, this was however, about to change. I left the guests to make their way back to Cactus to meet the van and I headed off to the car park to fetch it. As I rounded a sharp corner half way down under the Rhodos bubble I noticed some poles in a cross to the left of the piste. This normally means danger of some form, ice, rock, cliff etc. best to steer clear as I did, a few metres further another set and some more, in fact 6 sets in total. I couldn’t see what the danger was but I’d keep away anyway. Well, that was the plan until the dreaded ski school snake drifted across in front of me, forcing me to the left. Eventually I had no choice but to go past the crosses, either that or wipe out the school! As I hit the first hump I saw why they were there, blue ice, the worst sort. No edges would grip that stuff and before I knew it I was down, both skis off and sliding backwards. I came to an abrupt stop as I hit a pile of bodies, ten in total, as it had caught them all out! Within seconds someone else came over the hill and landed on us, he too had no skis on, then another and another and another, Eventually there were thirty of us all in a heap, all killing ourselves with laughter, there were even two ESF instructors in the pile.
It had to happen I guess, it was the funniest crash I’d had in years, but hey, this is what it’s all about. Thursday was upon us, day off time. Kirsty & I had decided to do the chalet shopping on our day off this week as the usual Friday trip was winding everybody up. Firstly, the driver, Dan, was not happy about having to take everybody as it was not in his duties as a ski tech, but he was the only one from PA who could drive. The chefs wanted to get off early at 8am so they could get back in time to enjoy the afternoon’s skiing. The problem was, they were all too disorganised and took 5 hours to do their shopping. As our chalet is a small place, Kirsty and I had to do everything from chef to chalet maid, driver, dish washer, host, manager and waiter. We started work at 7am and finished at 10pm , unless there was any après ski to host, and then it could be in the early hours. Shopping at 8 was ridiculous as we would be serving our guests breakfast. The friction was mounting so Thursday, day off, would be our shopping day. It also got us out of resort and gave us a change of scenery. The shopping would only take Kirsty an hour, and in that time I could wash the van and fill it with fuel ready for Sunday.
As we prepared to leave at around 10am, guests still sat round drinking coffee, in marches Terry, muddy boots up the stairs and into the lounge, ‘I need your van, ‘ he says, ‘ours is having its window fixed today, and I need to go to Moutiers. ‘ Firstly, I thought, it’s our day off, what are you doing here at 10, I could have been asleep, or gone skiing. Secondly, how dare you come into our chalet and be rude in front of my guests, (the tone in his voice was abrupt) and thirdly, cant you read the signs, no shoes to be worn inside the chalet, especially muddy ones!! ‘Well, we are going shopping today,’ I explained, ‘What time do you need the van?’ ‘Drop it up at 2’, he said, ‘that will be fine.’
As the week drew to a close it was going to be difficult to see these guys leave, but it had to come, sooner or later. Hugs all round as they boarded their coach to the airport and soon it was back to scrubbing the chalet clean again. 2pm and I’m called out to go to Aime train station to pick up some guests and drive them to La Plagne, one of our other resorts. Why me? I had no idea. My guests would need welcoming and getting organised with passes and ski hire etc.. Up at La Plagne, I’m informed I have to wait here till half past five to take the next lot of guests back down again. So, here I am, sat in Grassiosa with Claire, the manager, shooting the breeze with the other ski hosts. Time that should have been spent with my guests, who had arrived at three.
A quick call to Terry to send someone down to sort them out, and I can relax again knowing they’re ok. Why did I not believe that to be the case? Richard is sent down to Joseph, sorts out 5 out of 10 passes, and claims not to know where the ski shop is, hence the guests don’t get kit sorted. Those who had booked ski school in the UK
Finally, at 8:30pm , we sat down to dinner, skis and boots hired and tucked safely away in the locker room. The crowd this week looked like a fun bunch, 10 in total, 7 doctors, Azi, Jenny!, Jenny2, James, Jo, Suki and Leona, a surgeon, Simon, a paediatrician, Sarah and an architect, Tim. All 30 somethings, although they claimed to be only 29.95 plus postage and packing.
Once the 5 beginners were off to ski school, it was the usual trip up to St Martin ,. The weather was fantastic and the runs well groomed. I’m not very good at getting big air as I guess I’ve not had much practice, and always ended up on my backside. After letting the group set off sop I could monitor their skiing abilities and plan the runs for the week, I set off after them. They were all great skiers and too some catching. As I passed the tail enders I misjudged a ridge and, before I knew it, I was airborne, about 10ft airborne, to be precise. I must have had my stance correct as I landed perfectly. It must have looked so cool, but no bugger saw it! I was buzzing; however I couldn’t do it again if I tried!
Pity though, it was the last day of sunshine for a while, Tuesday came along with snow, snow and more snow, skiing in complete whiteouts became the norm. My days just got longer, having to get up earlier and stay up later shovelling the bloody stuff from the driveway. Once I had filled the dread ground with snow I was running out of places to put it. After the snow plough had gone by one morning it gave me an idea, I’ll build Joseph a garden wall. This was a good way to get rid of the snow and also make a feature that was to become a talking point for the village, complete with gate pillars and balls, (I contemplated making some snow lions, but my sculpting needed practice, maybe later in the season). My wall, I must add, grew to about 4ft over the next two weeks with all the snow we were having.
Once we had a great view of the mountain from our basement apartment, but after this snow fall, all we could see was..well, snow!! At least having our window covered completely in snow it did cure one problem we had been giving…smoke! You see, as we are under the patio, any guest that wanted to smoke stood out there and it all drifted into our room. Not that I minded the smell of smoke, but during any inspection of the chalet by the bosses, they would think we had been smoking in our room. I just hoped that on the day that happened the chalet opposite would light their fire because that had the same effect too, our room would fill with the smell of log fires. Thank god there wasn’t a toilet out there!!
The doctors were a strange but intelligent crowd; they weren’t interested in après ski, all they wanted to do after dinner was to play trivial pursuits. This they did every night until the early hours of the morning, some one-upmanship thing they had going on. One night Kirsty and I hosted our music quiz, they were all very competitive, and insisted we carried on until gone midnight .
We have been here now for seven weeks, possibly some of the best weeks of my life. Skiing has been great and my technique has improved no end. It’s not been without its ups and downs mind, Kirsty and I have had some huge rows, nothing serious but it happens when you’re living together. I’m just happy our relationship is strong enough to cope with them. I guess I can be a stubborn, grumpy bugger at times and Kirsty’s logic…well, I mean…one night she comes out with ‘I’m doing celery as a veg dish next week as the guests must be getting bored now with leeks every week.’ Women!!!
Kirsty is so eager to impress the bosses, as we both are; she started to panic one day as she was marginally over budget. The bread man kept delivering her 4 flutes each day despite the fact we had told every man and his dog that we only wanted 3. ‘Just stick 3 down on your account sheet, ‘I said, ‘that will take someone stand up and take notice.’ ‘I can’t, I’ll get into trouble with Robert,’ she replied. ‘Yeah, but at least it will bring it to a head and then we can resolve it once and for all.’ She wasn’t having any of it.
I’m not sure if it was the long hours and being run down, stress, or the change in water, but I had started to develop a rash on my left leg. Before long it had spread to my right and, within a week, I as covered from head to foot and finding it difficult to sleep at night, making things worse. I decided to see the village doctor, who, in his pigeon English, prescribed some pills. A week of taking them and it had started to go down. The minute I stopped, it came back, but this time in a different form. Having seven doctors in I decided to approach one, Azi, and ask his opinion. Bad idea, he needed a second opinion, well, seven to be precise. After they had all had a good look, the general consensus was to try two creams, xxx and xxx. I can’t knock them and their obsession with trivial pursuits, because it soon cleared up after that. For now, anyway.
At the time of writing this, I’m sitting on my bed in our basement apartment, and all I can hear is the thud of golf balls on the ceiling. Maybe Nick bringing the green baize and me providing the putter and balls was not such a good idea. It is, after all, my day off and I should be asleep!!
We are not supposed to ski on Saturday afternoons as we are supposed to have a staff meeting, clean the vans etc. Both of which are buggered by the mighty powers of Parc Alpin as their staff want to ski on Saturday, so the meeting is held at 5:30pm, you know, the time when Kirsty and I are getting ready for Gala dinner. I was exempt for a while, but after the day off/Moutiers incident I’ve been ordered there ever since. When questioned if I needed to be there, Hillary insisted I did. ‘There are things you need to know from the meeting’, she said. To this day, nothing has involved me or Joseph, it’s all about Parc Alpin and how they need to shift beds and how the staff should wash up on a Thursday. Bugger all to do with me, but I still have to be there. I did once throw in a few points when Terry asked if there was any other business, but the answer back was…nothing to do with us.
After the meeting, it’s a quick blat home, dive through the shower and prepare for dinner. Awards tonight are equally as funny as before, Wipe-out, Wuss, Faff Monster, Glamorous outfit etc.etc. The top award went to Simon as I forgot to mention, in the Cime D3e Caron run, he was with me all the way, and attained a time of 7 mins 51 secs. Not quite Dave’s record, but then it was overcast and carved up.
After dinner it’s back to trivial pursuits again, I was desperately in need of an early night so after a quick clean up it’s au revoir to the gang and off to bed for me. As soon as my had hit the pillow the alarm was going off…bleat bleat bleat, 6am again. Do I ever get a minute to myself I asked?. It had been snowing now for a week and the van needed digging out. Transfer day today would be easier than before, drop my lot off at PA, scrub the chalet and pick the new lot up at half three. Little did I know the new lot were going to make my season. Well, one in particular, Russ…if ever there were a comedian to walk the earth, it was Russ. He arrived with his wife and controller, Claire, and their two year old son, Reece. Also in their party were Tim and Helen, along with Jane. Five others joined them by getting late bookings, Marie, a French lady (as I was about to find out the hard way) and Martin, her husband, two Swedish girls who lived in London
That evening was a night I’ll never forget. During my welcoming speech on the part of guiding I was explaining how funny the French are about instructors/guides and the whole tour operator thing. Most Brits slag off the French and my description tonight was equal to that of anyone else. It was then pointed out to me that Marie was indeed French!!! You know the feeling when you want the ground to open up!
The Swedish contingent were introduced to us all as Ǻsa and Tina, Ǻsa informed us that the dot over the A in her name gave it the ‘OR’ pronunciation, so she was called ‘orsa’ or ‘ors’ as she preferred. For anyone not getting it yet, she was now known as ‘horse’ and it was soon to be adopted that Tina was ‘Cart’! Russ was upstairs as dinner was about to be served, putting Reece to bed. When he finally made it down he sat next to Ǻsa and came out with ‘I’m so hungry I could eat a horse’. Well, the group could hardly contain their laughter and the mountain broth was sprayed everywhere!
Mike informed us that night that he wasn’t actually a sad single person but just managed to get a last minute deal which his wife couldn’t take advantage of. He did get some stick for it though. This week was going to be a complete piss take week as everybody got on like a housed on fire and were ripping into each other like there was no tomorrow. Helen had previously been a seasonaire at Le Signal, next to Les Avals, and knew the drill; she was also a complete piss head, as were most of the crowd. Picking them up at Cactus was more the case of picking up their skis and boots so they could go off drinking and walk back in time for dinner.
I really enjoyed my skiing that week, the Swedes were great skiers, as was Mike. Russ was brilliant, even though on the first day he pulled out a pair of Dynastar 1980’s fluorescent straight planks. Boy did he cop some ribbing for them, we even offered to buy them from him to hang on the wall in the chalet to go with the pair already three…with cable bindings!!! Tina copped some flak too for wearing her designer clothing on the slopes…I mean.. who wears a ski jacket with shoulder pads?? Being 6’4” she looked like a cross between Elvis Presley and Jaws from Moonraker!
It was still snowing heavily and I was running out of places to put the stuff. I had a pile in the drive behind the wall, six foot high so I decided to build a snow sports car for Reece on my day off. He loved it, as any two year old would. Some of the locals did too and many a comment was heard from passers by.
This week we were to see our first casualties of the season. Early on Tim had a fall on his snowboard and broke his wrist. Tuesday we spent in casualty having him plastered up. Later that week Marie had a nasty crash which involved her bindings releasing but instead of the ski being ejected away, it snapped back slicing into her leg. With blood everywhere she was removed from the mountain by blood wagon and the end result was 7 stitches and a new pair of salopettes. Thank god none of them were out with me when the incidents occurred. Frostbite became another issue too. On our regular Friday trip down the Cime De Caron and back I noticed white blotchy patches on three of my guest’s faces, checking my makeshift divers watch clipped to my rucksack, I noticed that the temperature gauge had tripped out. According to the manual this only happens at -30. Remembering the training days back at Les Avals I was well aware that these guests didn’t have long before serious damage would occur. Time I didn’t have as we still had four runs and five lifts to go to get home. I pulled everyone together and made a plan.
I had enough protection on me, but I had three others who didn’t. People may take the piss out of my Killy one piece and all my accessories, but I was well covered and warm. Thankfully I had enough spare kit with me to cover up this lot’s exposed flesh. Things like face tubes, balaclavas, scarves. Anything to cover up. Another thing struck me too, I remember my first diving experience in Stoney Cove where I had an ill fitting wet suit. When hypothermia is kicking in people tend to give up and just lie down and go to sleep, this was happening here, they just wanted to sit down and fall asleep…. No way am I losing a guest! Even if they do insist on skiing in sub zero temperatures wearing Rodeo clothing from C&A, no wonder the company went bust, the stuff is crap!
With them all wrapped up and all exposed flesh covered, we carried on down the mountain. This lot were going down in the bubble, I’m not risking anything anymore. The mountain had caught us out once more, temperatures had dropped and the storm had come in, it was time to get this lot back to humanity… well to Joseph at least. As a ski guide I now carry tonnes of extra clothing, spares of everything, forget the spade and body finders, my skiing is much more controlled than to lose someone in an avalanche, but you never know when Mr and Mrs C&A are going to fall foul of the weather. It makes me wonder sometimes what people expect from a mountain range, I’ve read books on summit conquering and wilderness expeditions, the kit they carry and the dangers they encounter. Respect the mountain and the weather, mother nature is not as forgiving as some people expect.
Our day off this week was going to be a leisurely trip in the bubble to Brides les Bains, but looking at the weather, a day in bed was called for. That evening the seasonaire took the posse off to El Ponchos for dinner, except for Russ, Claire and Reece, who joined Kirsty and I at Pizza Express. It’s a good crack there now as we are the most regular guys they have in, we even managed to get Russ pissed enough to belt out Moonlight on the piano, well, at least until his fingers forgot where to go.
They were both kind enough to shout us dinner so we decided a nightcap at the chalet was in order. Over some very expensive brandy the conversation turned to Helen, the seasonaire, a rather good looking blonde girl, and her husband, Tim. How come he let her go off and do a season?? After all they had been together for 11 years, I can’t imagine any girl of mine giving me a 5 month pass out!! Especially to come and play in the Alps . Hey, it’s not up to me, but it did make interesting conversation.
Usually on a Saturday night or Sunday morning the guests were kind enough to hand Kirsty and I some money in tips, as a group they clubbed together and we got around £150, combined with the honesty bar we had going, this could be rounded up to around £200. Not bad for a little chalet with 2 staff. This lot, however, were all individual groups. The first lot that came in was around 50 quid but as the minibus loaded on Sunday. More and more was handed to me in dribs and drabs. After they had all departed I did a quick reccy and we had been given £200. Thank you guys, it’s most appreciated, that’s fags and phone credit for the next week. A custom we had grown to like. I hate scrounging and living on handouts, but this seemed to be the norm in a ski company world. I’m just glad the envelopes are not used anymore.
Kirsty and I are becoming dab hands at scrubbing Joseph, by 11am on Sunday we were ready for our next lot. During the previous week Kirsty had received a phone call from Ali, who had organised the trip, apologising about the guests who had some pretty weird dietary requirements. Lactose free, sea food allergies and vegans alike, we had the lot. We were both concerned about how they could be catered for, but as it turned out, they were also a great crowd. It must be time soon for us to have a bad lot, I mean, after all, I wouldn’t like to cater for ME on a ski trip. The law of averages meant it had to happen soon… And it did! I’ll tell you more later.
Ali arrived with his fiancée Emma, their friends Hugh & Mo, Bruce, Helen his ex and her new husband Jamie. Later we were joined by the self drive posse Sudip, Jane and their one year old Myra
After some faffing about with Sudip’s car, trying to park it in PA’s garage for the week, we were all set for dinner. The week sort of flew by without any dramas, or excitement for that matter. Ali and Emma were boarders and took off to the back of beyond, Hugh, Bruce and I skied together for most of the week, while Jamie and Helen kept themselves to themselves. I did have to pick a group of them up from La Tania one day as they missed the last lift but other than that a good week was had by all. …Then it was time, the time we had been dreading…the party from hell!! Well, I may be exaggerating but when ‘The Business Consultants’ arrived on February 9th it was as though everything Kirsty and I had been doing was suddenly not good enough. I mean it was our fault they all had baths at the same time and ran out of hot water, we were also to blame for their ski instructor, the one they booked in England, being too hard on them and obviously it was our fault that they couldn’t all ski like Martin Bell on day 2!
Every so often, say once a month, the water pressure in Meribel drops and consequently the hot water can’t be pumped to the top rooms. Not really worth worrying every guest that comes to the chalet, just a polite apology when it happens to the guests involved. After all, there is nothing anyone can do about it, it happens to every chalet in Meribel, when it goes. Sam, however, was having none of it… ‘You really should tell people in your welcome speech about this’ she says insistently… Like I said, nothing can be done, and it only happens every now and then, so I don’t feel it’s worth bothering the majority of the guests.
This week was going to be one hell of a challenge, we set about being as nice as we could to them, being extra helpful and going further than we had ever gone before. Most of the group had skied many times but had decided to all try snowboarding this week, oh I forget to mention, it was our fault the board hurt their legs too!
Almost all of them were smokers and before long our patio was covered in discarded fag ends. I tried in vain to keep the place clear of them but they still carried on flicking them out there. Please Nick, don’t visit this week! Can you imagine how many fags 10 people get through a day, and they were all dumped on our patio!
Steve was the first guy I won round, chatting about his experiences. Phil was next, wanting to hook up his laptop to the net so he could carry on working. Dan and Mark came out with me most days and the rest just seemed to sit around the chalet getting drunk and sunbathing. Samantha was the thorn, being a veggie Kirsty had to make her something different from the rest every night for dinner, and every night she gave it away to the rest of the party…heaven knows why, we asked her if it was ok and she just kept saying it was delicious. Funnily enough they turned out to be overly impressed with their holiday, bought us a £100 bottle of champagne and gave us 100% on the questionnaires. Steve even said at Gala dinner, ‘I’ve stayed in 5* hotels around the world but this is the most pleasurable experience I have had on a vacation, thank you.’
The questionnaires returned b y the guests are part of our evaluation, Kirsty and I wanted to strive to be the best chalet Ski Olympic has. Each week our marks are faxedo0ver, along with every other chalet, so we can see who is doing well and who isn’t. During the first two weeks of the season I left the guests to fill out their questionnaires on the coach home, but on both occasions they were lost and we got no marks. To improve the chances of ours making their way to the right place I adopted the policy of handing them out after gala dinner on Saturday, saying to the guests ‘Once you have completed them, pop them in this envelope, seal it and leave it on the coffee table for me in the morning,’ then we would retire for the night. The following morning I would collect the envelope and hand it in (sealed) to whomever rep’s the coach to the airport. This way I knew they would get there, but it still gave the guests the privacy to fill them out on their own.
So far we have scored the highest of all the chalets with 6 x 100%s, a 99%, 98%, 87% and 77% being our lowest as two 16 year olds filled some out unfavourably when they shouldn’t have even had them. Most guests however are happy with our service and don’t even bother using the envelope, it’s as if they want us to see what nice comments they have put about us. Gaining high scores puts us in with a chance for chalet of the week, but for some reason I think the powers that be are not keen on Kirsty and I, as we haven’t even had a look in. Whatever.
That Saturday afternoon Terry calls, ‘Rob, what are you up to, I need someone to come to Moutiers with me to collect another vehicle’, so off we set. Terry seems to have mellowed now and we chatted away right down the mountain. I guess he is getting used to the job now and things are easier on him. The reason we had to collect this van is, last Sunday during transfers, the La Plagne van’s engine fell out and was literally hanging by its fan belt!!! They took PA’s van and we got the hire one for a few days till it was fixed. Upon arrival at Europcar I was handed the keys to a shiny new Nissan Terano, complete with leather heated seats, 4x4 and automatic box. You should have seen the faces on some of the hosts when they saw me sat in it! ‘You not got yours yet??!’ was my standard taunt. As nice as it was, I wanted my bus back as this was about as much use as a one legged man in an arse kicking contest for what I needed it for.
The following week was to be a strange one. I got a call from a guy called Andy, who was due to stay with us, could I arrange for the ski shop to bring everything to the chalet so his kids could try on boots and skis? Er, no, but if you let me know the shoe sizes I’ll reserve them for you so we can collect. That Sunday morning as the guests were sent on their merry way, (7:15am), the phone rings again, it’s Andy saying he was in resort and could he come to the chalet now…bloody hell, only 15minutes to get the place ready!!!
They arrived in two cars and were joined later by John and Tom in a bloody great 4x4 Nissan. John was a great guy who had many a story, he owned his own airport along with 4 planes, a helicopter and a private jet, just like the one James Bond nicks in Tomorrow Never Dies! He bought a full 3 Valleys pass and never used it, went on Skidoos, flights, ice karting etc. money was no object for these people. They would ask me to drive them to the Altiport every morning, and round and round they would go until it was time to be picked up again! Each time they got in the van a chorus of ‘hi ho hi ho, it’s off to work we go’ would belt out from the back as the kids were on such a high. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they knew all the words!! Andy has threatened to make me a tape of them to play in the van!!! Please, NO!
Little did we know what was around the corner, and I wish it hadn’t have been. On their last day Phil and his wife Tracy, the other couple in the group, sent their kids Millie and Toby off with Andy to meet me in the bus while they had ‘one last run’. Tracy
Gala Dinner that night was a sombre occasion as we all sat in silence waiting for the phone to ring. Phil had gone with her to Moutiers hospital as the local medic couldn’t deal with a casualty this severe. We finally drove to pick him up at 11pm , Kirsty even nuked some dinner when he got back but in all honesty his head was in the bin and I bet he didn’t want it.
The following morning was a more relaxed turnaround, as they were all self drives. However we still had no idea what was going to happen to Tracy England Tracy
Still coming to terms with the accident we are descended upon by the following week’s guests….Gobshite and her posse…. Jen, as she was otherwise known. Jen was from some part of the country where they were taught to speak with their mouths full. No one could understand a word she was saying… it was loud, incomprehensible and obviously funny to her, as she kept laughing at everything she said. Standing at 6’6” tall she thought she had some sort of presence that could intimidate everyone, the problem was, no one was intimidated, they just looked at her and thought…..SAD.
She had come with her father and six friends. During the first day she had a major argument with him and even though they were sharing a room, they didn’t speak for the rest of the week, except to slag each other off.
My rash had started to come back with a vengeance, after another trip to the local quack it was decided I needed to see a specialist, so an appointment was booked for me with a dermatologist in Albertville the following Monday. I had also developed pains in both elbows but I was going to leave that one for now, as this was getting far too complicated.
It’s over half way through the season now and Kirsty is starting to get panicky about what we are going to do in the summer. It was her birthday on the 1st March and by default was talking a lot to family at home. This was just making things worse. We had some big rows over it as I had no idea what we were going to do. Her Mum had offered her a job running her pub, the Tan Hill Inn; it’s the highest pub in Britain
During the course of the season I have learned so much about this job that I have decided that it’s something I want to do until arthritis kicks in and stops me skiing for good, if that’s with Ski Olympic then all the better. As they say, better the devil you know and all that. It’s hard work, but then what job isn’t? At least the perks here are great. I used to pick up my guests from outside the Cactus bar but as the management there won’t look after me for taking 12 guests a day in for après ski, and as the guests themselves just look at me through the window and gesture ‘we’ll be with you in half an hour when we have finished our beer’ I’ve decided to meet them at the shuttle bus pick up point. If they are not there, they walk back. Works well so far; no one wants to walk so there they are like little lambs at 5pm, sat on the wall, waiting.
I tried, where possible, to keep out of Jen’s way that week as she was intent on winding me up. Still got excellent service, but by the book. The others in the group were very polite and kind, I got on well with them all.
After Jen’s group we were blessed with a chalet full of women… well almost, 10 of them and two guys, most had been to Meribel earlier in the season and stayed at the chalet Hedras, the one where my cousin was staying, he warned me about them and what they were like, most of the group had stayed with Ski Olympic in previous years and knew the routine. We had some living up to do! As they arrived and sat down for tea and cakes, it was Karen who caught my attention! She sat down and pulled out her mobile, then proceeded to order a sofa over the phone!! A bit surreal on a ski trip, but hey! Then in walks Phoebe, or Denise as she prefers to be called…Nah, Phoebe it is, she was the spit of the Friend’s character and equally as daft. Throughout the week she would engage mouth before referring to brain and had us all in stitches time and time again.
This lot had come by snow train so were in resort at 8am , wanting to ski. Our previous guests had just left at 7:30 so we had our work cut out… For anyone at Head Office reading this… small chalets are not geared up for early arrivals, or late departures, we have nowhere to put them!! Still, off they went and we got down to scrubbing once more.
During the meeting at PA that Saturday evening I received our rooming list for the following week, 11 in total, one guy on his own from Cumbria
When Mike arrived in his shiny new 2 seater, black Honda 2000s and parked it arse end in on the drive so that no one else could park, we soon understood…. Mr Petrolhead had landed. Armed with this month’s copy of Top Gear and Evo, he proceeded to bore the pants off everyone who got in his line of fire. I knew I had a tough week ahead because, during the welcome speech at dinner that night, the response was somewhat mind numbing.
Whilst trying to rave about the snow conditions and the après ski program, all I got in response was a few grunts and groans. Oh what joy. They didn’t get any better either. Not interested in anything at all. No skiing, no partying, no nothing, in fact the highlight of their day came from the tunes being belted out by good ole Radio Meribel.
Nothing Kirsty and I did could hype this bunch; they got up at 11, went into town, came home at 2, went back to bed, came down for dinner at 9, an hour late, ate it and went back to bed. Mike even left resort early to drive to the South of France in his new toy. I wouldn’t mind but it’s a 2L Honda!!! Nothing to write home about. My MR2 would kick its ass and it would be left for dead against the Suzy.
After a week of trying to please, a Gala dinner which resembled a fish farm, awards that took Kirsty and I a week to come up with…best joke etc…trust me this lot were a crowd of anoraks…(No, sorry, anoraks have an interesting life in their own way, this lot were brain dead), we decided to put out the tip envelopes for a laugh… Guess what… €6, whoopee.
Soon they were gone, after much faffing about, and in came the next… Now these are my kinda people…10 expert skiers, party animals, totty hungry 30 something’s who wanted to have a good time. Good, cos that’s what I wanted too..
Matt was their unofficial leader, his ex girlfriend had organised the trip but then they split up leaving him in charge. A job he didn’t want or need.
The sun has really come out now big time, my face is as black as the ace of spades and the snow is melting fast. Dave has booked again for next week, but Jane and John could only get Meribel Village
Skiing this week was a dream, Skaterboy was playing continuously on Radio Meribel and most of the crowd had got the tune lodged in their heads, consequently it was being sung on every lift and every piste, admittedly we did change some of the words, and Chris was copping for some stick.
The week flew by and soon Dave and the group had arrived, Kay, his girlfriend kept the chalet in stitches with her humour, although they did have a bit of falling out when she found skiing a little harder than she expected. It soon blew over and we were all laughing again. Jane and John were out again as I said, in the Village, and this time they had brought out my goddaughter, Katie, with them. Having only skied for one week before, she was a demon, no fear and keeping up with mum and dad all the way. They joined my party on a couple of occasions and we did lunch once or twice.
The next two weeks, we were informed, were Easter breaks, although Easter wasn’t for a couple more weeks, the private schools broke up earlier… you know what this means?? Yup, toffs and upper class twits!!!
In walks 5 adults and five kids and, within minutes, I’m fighting back the laughs as John, an auctioneer from London
It’s like a summer’s day on the Med and this lot want a fire lighting!!! On our first day out we had lunch at Jacks bar in Meribel, a burger joint but good food and great value. ‘Can we see the wine list?’ asks Ali. Like I said, a burger joint, you wouldn’t ask for a wine list in MacDonalds now would you? ‘We have House Red or White,’ came the reply. ‘Well, I want rosé’, says Ali. After a word with Clive, the owner, a bottle of rosé appeared on the table; he had nipped out to the local supermarket and got some in. When the bill came and they had been charged €200 per bottle they didn’t even flinch! The following day they requested we ate somewhere upmarket and up on the mountain. Although I had never been, I had heard that the Pierre
I thoroughly enjoyed that week, listening to all their comments, ‘that run was tickety boo’ and ‘spiffing slopes’. They thought I had endless enthusiasm as I was always smiling; truth was I couldn’t contain myself, they made me laugh so much, they reminded me of Tim-Nice-But-Dim from the Harry Enfield show. The Hamilton Wigan ’s, they always called each other by their surnames, and were related to the MP of the same name. Soon they were calling Kirsty by hers, Peachey.
Wednesday night and the lads from Courchevel were coming over for the night, we both needed a night off too, sop off to Dicks we headed. Beer was flowing that night and before long we were in the party mood. Moving downstairs I’m chatting to some of the group when I see Matt and Kirsty rush outside, I followed only to find that Kirsty had picked up a glass that was cracked and there was blood everywhere. I took her home and attempted to dress the wound, whilst completely out of it in beer. She wasn’t any better. After my half arsed attempt to bandage4 her up and clean the bathroom, which looked like a scene from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, I put her to bed and went back to say goodnight to the gang and soon I was home and passed out.
The next morning I went to change Kirsty’s dressing and thought, nope, she needs proper medical attention. Seven stitches later she’s pronounced fit to leave the surgery. In true Kirsty style she refuses to get help to run the chalet and keeps forgetting what she has done to her hand, picking things up etc. Her mood was like having permanent PMT too!!! In the end I went back to see the doctor and got her some painkillers.
The following Monday I get a call from Terry asking if I‘d like to play in the Ski Olympic Open Golf Championships in Annecy
On the journey home the obligatory stop at MacD’s was in order and we all crammed as m much in as we could. Ah, junk food for the first time in 5 months, lovely!! As we approached Meribel at around 8:30 it dawned on me. Kirsty was covering dinner on her own…with one hand!!! Oops, I’m gonna be in trouble now..
The following day more snow came down and the temperatures dropped even further, my group this week were mainly beginners and were off in ski school all morning. I now have only one more week after this and then it’s all over. I’ve been trying to speak to someone about coming back next year but no one seems to have the authority to say yes, I guess they are all waiting until the end to make any decisions.
By week 18 we are informed that Joseph is closing a week early…like the end of this week!! So these guests are our last. I can’t believe how quick it has gone. Still no word about next year, but hey. The doorbell goes and it’s Terry, ‘Morning, just to let you know, you’re going home by coach next Wednesday, 4pm from Courchevel, ok? Oh, and the staff day out is on Tuesday, over at Val.’
Deciding it would be too much to go to Val, ski all day, party all night and get back to Meribel by 1am , then have to travel to England
The party started… drink was disappearing faster than the snow in Meribel, the food came out and disappeared equally as fast, spirits were very high that night, Kirsty and I were feeling a bit down and finding it hard to enjoy ourselves, after all Nick had been to see everyone else about next year except us. Paranoid maybe, but we felt that our time with Ski Olympic was over so tonight was the final supper. Not a joyous occasion as it should have been. It came to prize giving and tones were given out. We were handed a bag for winning chalet of the week earlier in the season. Nothing much, but a token of the company’s appreciation, which was nice. As the night went on and we got more and more drunk, it was decided to leave as the paranoia mixed with alcohol was not a good combination and we didn’t want to spoil things on the very last night of the season. As soon as we got in the car I was gone, waking only at Joseph. The others, however, had a more interesting night. Shaggy was one of their designated drivers!! Ooops. After much faffing about they got off the coach in Moutiers to pick up the minibuses and it was then that they realised they had lost Beccy2. Can you imagine 15 drunks wandering around looking for her? Was she on the bus, did she leave with them?? No one could remember, so it was decided she had fallen in the river and there was nothing they could do. Calls were being made left right and centre, Jack was manning the control centre at Parc Alpin as Hillary had driven to Courchevel to see if she had got on their bus by mistake. It was at this point she wandered in through the doors of PA, having no clue how she got there! The search was called off and everyone returned home.
Next morning Kirsty and I did the finishing touches to Joseph and our packing and then sat and waited for Nick to come and give us the all clear to go home. It was around half two when he came, a few words about the party and he inspects the chalet, ‘Yup, this is fine’, he says and pulls out some paperwork. ‘So you want to come back next year?’ ‘If you want us’, I replied. ‘We (Ski Olympic) would be very lucky to have you back, so you’re welcome to run Joseph next year if you want it’. And that was that!!! We had the job, no need for all the worry! ‘Just one thing,’ I asked, ‘if we do come back can you a) guarantee we get Joseph and b) can we have independence from PA next year?’ ‘Absolutely’, says Nick, ‘they have no reason to interfere and they can probably draw from your experience too.’ Wicked!!!
I’m gonna miss this place but I’m glad in a way that we are going home early as the snow is going fast. Yesterday they closed all the runs to resort so it’s bubble down only. It’s like skiing on sugar anyway so I guess we know it’s all over. 20 weeks of skiing 6 days a week, I couldn’t ask for more. So, if you’re thinking of doing this job, take the plus’s with the minus’s….Once you get your head round the resort and how things work, you don’t need wages; commission from restaurants, karting, bowling, picnic etc. keep you in beer, fags and phone credit. You get fed three times a day, three courses in the evening of wicked food, your accommodation is sorted, van to drive around in, skis on tap from the hire shop (when Rene ain’t about) and a whole host of other bonus’s if you keep your eyes open and treat people right. On the down side, it’s a long day as a host in a small chalet (it may well be the same in the bigger ones too), start at 6am when the alarm goes off, help serve breakfast, after getting shot of the rubbish and collecting stuff from PA, load the guest’s skis on to the van and take them to the mountain. Ski all day and bring them back again. Get a couple of hours rest before helping with dinner, then get stuck in with the après ski and finally crash out around midnight. Repeat the process until Thursday and then sleep. I love it, hard work never hurt anyone, so my dad says, and illness is for the weak too. One thing about being out here is that you are permanently ill, just getting over one bug when a Billy brings you another. Gotta keep going mind. Kirsty holding the chalet together with one hand plastered up, me skiing in -20˚ with a raging cold. All in all I would recommend it to anyone who likes skiing or mountains, and not many can say that they don’t like the view from our window.
No sooner had Nick left did Terry arrive in the van to take us to Courchevel to meet the coach, after even more faffing we were eventually on our way back home, well to England anyway. It wasn’t long into the journey till I passed out; I managed to sleep till Calais UK
So that’s about it guys. I’m gonna end it here. I’m back in Blighty for another 7 months of misery, drizzle and mobile phones. We WILL be back next year!
The End
7am the following morning we were up preparing breakfast and clearing snow from the driveway when Joseph came thundering down the stairs followed by the other 6 kids one by one. While waiting for breakfast the 7 of them went outside and rolled around in the snow, they then came screaming through the chalet and upstairs, in muddy boots diving on the sofas along the way. We didn’t say anything just then because servants don’t do that!!
4pm ….. in they come from Courchevel, screaming and shouting at me once again, now informing me that there is no bus service in Courchevel and impossible to get a taxi on a Saturday.
Parma Parma
Parma Sheffield , we live in Derbyshire, Sheffield is a common place.
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...And the worst week I ever had!
We have all experienced bad times, some worse than others, but this story puts a few things into context.
We first heard about the White group the Thursday before they arrived when we received a phone call at the chalet from Ian White the party organiser. He initially asked me to book his party some ski lessons for the following week,
Half term week!
As those of you in the know, know, almost all ski lesson places for that week are fully booked, up to a year in advance. Never the less we went through the motions of calling every ski school and private instructor known in the 3 valleys to see if they had any late availability…. With zero success.
Mr White also explained on the phone that he had visited Chalet Joseph 5 years ago and decided to book the whole place so he wouldn’t have to share with any low lives!
This I thought was a bit strong but ho hum, I’ve had worse…. Or so I thought
On arrival in Moutiers the following Sunday afternoon they were greeted by myself in the company minibus 5 in total, Parma, Max, Imogen, Joseph, & Ian. I have never seen so much bling in all my life!! Designer gear from head to foot, including the luggage.
On the way back up the mountain to the chalet I got chatting to them and discovered that the other 7 in their party were flying into Geneva and getting a private minibus later that afternoon.
The rest of the afternoon went pretty smoothly, a couple more transfers, lift passes sorted and ski hire taken care of. Dinner that evening was put back by their request until the others arrived at 9pm . It was at this point the kids started to run riot in the chalet, toys everywhere, food everywhere and colouring books a plenty. The normal half term set up.
Kirsty is busy prepping dinner, pork in a mustard sauce when Ian informs us that the other group are Muslims, the first we have heard of this so a quick menu change is undertaken and coq au vin is created.
Ian throughout this time is constantly on the phone to his party and contacts in England Parma
9pm became 10pm, 10pm became 11pm and finally the other 7 arrived, driven by an old friend of mine, Phil, who worked in Chalet Brigitte last season, He explained to me they had been the loudest customers he has had and that they had consumed 3 bottles of wine on the journey from Geneva.
Enter Zied, Kara, Zac, Maryam, Olivia, Caz and Natasha
Dinner was finally served at 11.15 and the usual first night banter is underway. Welcome speeches, rules and reg’s etc plus the standard ‘what’s your name and where do you come from’ routine. Ian informs us he sells books and Zied is a used car salesman who drives a Lamborghini, Ferrari and Porsche, frankly why we needed that information is beyond me. As Kirsty and I sat down with them for the main course, Parma
Kirsty and I picked up our plates and went back into the kitchen to finish our food.
It Begins!
After dinner Zied thanks me for dinner and says how surprisingly good it tasted. My reply was, “what did you expect?”
Dinner was cleared away and coffee served, although the atmosphere was a bit strange, we smiled throughout and then bid our farewells at 12.15am . I was ready for a pint after today. I zipped off down to Dicks for a swift one and then back to the chalet at around 1am . I decided to pop upstairs and do a final clean down of glasses etc to save Kirsty the job in the morning. On entering the lounge, Parma Caz and Kara were sat around the table smoking cigarettes, eating cheese and drinking wine…. Chalet wine and chalet cheese. Using a saucer as an ashtray with about 10 butts in it.
I politely reminded them again that this was a no smoking chalet and it was not the done thing to raid the fridge as that was tomorrow’s dinner. Their reply was “we have paid 8 grand for this week so we can do what we like. I smiled and said, it’s not just the smell but the safety aspect and I would prefer it if they didn’t smoke in the chalet.
I left and went to bed.
Both Kirsty and I were ignored throughout breakfast which by the way, got going at 10.30am . After breakfast I waited in the garage until 12.45 when they finally were all ready to go skiing. Dropping them off at the Chaudanne just after 1pm I pointed out the mushrooms and said I would be back to collect them at 4.30pm .
Back to the chalet to help Kirsty clear up the mess they had made and back down again at 4.30 to pick them up. Were they there? No.
After a brief look round I spotted Parma
I duly obliged muttering some expletives under my breath as I went. I then drove the van to Cactus and waited outside for another half hour before they finally finished and climbed aboard. On returning to the chalet they all got off the minibus and headed inside leaving me to unload their skis and poles, the kids grabbed some bum boards and started to play in the snow once more while the adults went up to their rooms… in ski boots!!
That night Kirsty was prepping for dinner when Ian came down and casually told her that they had decided to eat out and wouldn’t require feeding, the same thing happened on the following two nights also. What a waste of food.
The following morning all the patio doors were wide open and the chalet was freezing, so much so that the water pipes feeding the toilet had frozen. Cigarette butts were once more stubbed out in saucers on the table, I guess they wanted to get rid of the smell; it would have been a good start to throw the butts out first!
Hurricane Jo was the first down as usual and another day of bedlam begins, Zac enters with his bouncing ball and proceeds to chuck it around the chalet knocking things over in the process. In comes Kara demanding a towel change! Its only Tuesday and Zied asked for a clean towel yesterday, yes we want fresh towels everyday. That’s gonna be fun as we only have two sets and one lot is at the laundry, even our washing machine is at the menders so it looks like we will be hand washing their towels every night.
Parma strolls in last at 10.00am and starts having a go at us for not having a TV, satellite or DVD player “We paid 8 grand for this holiday and its disgusting you don’t have TV for the kids, you had satellite TV last time we were here”
Er I think not!! Besides don’t blame the fact that no TV encourages your kids to smash the place up, try bringing them up with a bit of discipline, they are the rudest obnoxious kids I have ever met and you have no control over them whatsoever (if only I could say what I’m thinking) smile J
Today they finally get to the slopes at 11.30, pretty good for this shower of shit. Still Sunday is only 5 days away surely it can’t get any worse!! If only!!
Cleaning the chalet that day was fun; we found half a pineapple under the dresser, bread and biscuits down the back of the sofa and orange peel almost everywhere. They seem to peel oranges and just chuck the peel on the floor where they are standing; they either have 10 maids and a butler at home or live in pure squalor. Either that or as I suspect, they don’t give a toss about us or the chalet. If I owned the chalet or the company I would send them packing there and then and sod their 8 grand!!
That night was a carbon copy of the night before, pick them up, wait for them to finish beer and drive home via the spa so they could refill on champagne, roll around in the snow, steal the snow clearing kit had hide it up the hill behind the chalet, run in and out in their muddy wet kit, pillow fight with the cushions from the sofas, chuck them on the floor and then fill the drivers seat of the van with snow so its all wet for me… such lovely caring people.
No dinner again tonight as they are eating out again, it wouldn’t be so bad if the little buggers didn’t play ‘knock door run’ on our room every 5 minutes. After a while I gave up answering the door… you would have thought they would get bored now as we’re not playing…. I should be so lucky, na it carries on, till I finally stand by the door to catch them, but instead its Parma who I see next, coming to knock on our door, “Hi we are off out to dinner now, we will be back around 1am, look after the kids for us” now you are taking the piss!
Kirsty has a brain wave and calls the local nanny, bill them for your time when they get in, if they have a problem with that, kill a child every half hour till they pay up.
Next morning Zied says to his son Zac “would you like beans on toast for breakfast” Zac nods, “Kirsty, Zac wants beans on toast how long will it be” “seven days” shouts Kirsty “we have no beans, no toaster and no sliced bead this s France” its boiled eggs, porridge and pancakes this morning. Zac bursts into tears (nothing new there)
I had been asked on numerous occasions if I could drive them here there and everywhere and the looks & attitude I got when refusing caused me to come up with a master plan, as it had been snowing I would drop the van off with Steve & Anna (our other resort staff members from Chalet Charlotte) after the Chavs were all back from skiing, this would solve two problems, 1) Steve & Anna’s car had summer tyres and was tricky to drive up from Les Allues and 2) I couldn’t pick the guests up from their meal/drinking sessions at 1am. Steve would simply drop the van back at 7 on his way into work. Sorted. I must point out that it is not Ski Olympic policy to drive the guests around as a private chauffer service, in fact I once asked Rob Dobbin, our accounts manager if I was allowed to use the van for après ski, and the answer was of course NO, “Ski Olympic get no benefit from it and if you damage the van it will cause major problems, especially on transfer day” Fair point, I smiled as I don’t want to be a taxi driver anyway.
I’m a ski host, or at least I thought I was, not this week, a) they cant ski and are trying to teach each other, ha ha, I was asked to give them lessons but hey, that’s illegal. And b) They make so much mess in the chalet that it takes Kirsty and I all day to clean the place up. This morning they had dragged the sofas from the reading room into the lounge so no one could move, breaking the leg on one of the sofas in the process.
So not much, in fact no skiing for me this week…… why am I here exactly?
Come on Sunday hurry up… but NO, time slows down to a standstill… this week has taken 17 days just to get to Wednesday!!
I forgot to mention earlier on, but I’ve been trying to get this lot organised with some sort of après ski, they did go ice karting but get this… took a taxi from the chalet to the ice rink as it was too far to walk!!! Its 5 minutes for god’s sake! Bowling on the other hand was far to complicated to make a decision on and thus never done.
Wednesday night, I grouped the adults together before they went out once again for dinner, “Ok guys, we are off tomorrow and on Friday morning the two chefs from Meribel are taking the van to Moutiers to do the shopping so if you want a lift in, in the morning we will have to leave at 9am ok?” some mumbling came back but I couldn’t make out what was being said. I followed this with, “and your table is booked for tomorrow at La Gallett for 7.15 as you requested” And off they went kids and all.
Thursday morning, our day off, Kirsty and I got up at 7am, never heard of before, and caught the bubble to Brides les Bain, right down the bottom of the valley, just to get away from them for the day, we had breakfast and lunch there and came back to Meribel around 4, we then hid in Evolution for the remainder of the day. Later that night I got a call from Charlie who runs Evo, “Hi Rob, are you eating with your guests tonight?” “Er no Charlie are you kidding me, what are they doing there, they are booked into Gallett” Charlie replied, “they are tearing up the place, pulling keyboards from my internet café and bouncing balls all over the place, breaking things, Its nearly 8pm and they booked themselves in here for 7pm, I have another sitting at 9 and they haven’t even ordered yet” “good luck” I replied, “Oh and another thing, some Asian guy asked if I could send a fax for him, so I did but tore the paper on doing so, he was very abusive towards me for it” “And you were doing him a favour” that would be Zied then.
I would normally be happy to send as many people as I can to Charlie as he looks after us well, but I really didn’t want to impose this lot on him, he’s not got any hair left to tear out! (sorry Charlie J)
Kirsty and I got an early night and tried to get some sleep in before they got back and started playing SAS soldiers with their scatter bombs!
I thought that remark was funny until later when they did get back, there was an almighty bang outside my window, so I ventured outside to see what it was, they were only letting fireworks off from the lounge of the chalet and some inside too!! Do these people have a brain in their head??? Not only that but chucking the dead ones in the snow outside the balcony along with orange peel, fag butts and egg shells??? Egg Shells? They had used the cooker to boil our eggs and thrown the shells on the driveway. When questioned, Caz says “its ok they are biodegradable” …. “what by Sunday when the next lot of guests arrive?” I went back to bed with my headphones on.
Friday morning… or should I say D Day, usual start, clear saucers of fags, throw empty wine bottles away and what’s left of the cheese they have stolen once more, (we only have one fridge or I would have hidden it somewhere else) check how many hours are left until 6.30am Sunday, and await their arrival around 10. Even though breakfast is laid out at 8 and they know the van is leaving at 9.30.
Hurricane Jo (5) is down first again at 8.30 so I sit him down and say “can you remind mummy and daddy that the van is going at 9 please” …. Well that was it, diplomatic relations went out the window, in storms Parma, the wife not the ham, “this is disgusting, Ski Olympic have really gone down hill, you left us in the lurch yesterday, how do you expect us to get to the slopes without your minibus?” “Er well there is a bus stop a hundred yards away, that’s what most of our guests use” “Well we don’t do public transport I shall be writing to your company to complain” “ill pass your comments on but we do have to have a day off you know” I replied, “Yes but we have paid 8 grand for this holiday and expect Ski Olympic to replace you on your day off”
Like that’s gonna happen!! (I get the impression they have paid 8 grand for their holiday!)
“And why are we being rushed around this morning, I don’t want to go skiing until 10am ”
“Because, as I said on Wednesday, the chefs have to go shopping”
“Well why can’t they use the local bus service”
“a) because they have too much shopping to bring back and b) because there isn’t one to Moutiers”
(What I’m really thinking is, ‘the minibus is for transfers and shopping, getting a lift in the morning is a bonus so stop bloody moaning’)
“Well you could at least pay for a taxi for us”
From that moment on, the atmosphere in the chalet was as cold as the weather outside, what had we really done wrong, nothing. But you just know its wont be the end of things.
That evening dinner was fun, albeit not getting underway till 10 as they couldn’t be bothered to come down on time, glaring looks, smart comments and rather loud conversation amongst themselves about how much money they had, how much the Porsche cost, how much was made on this and that deal, How much the jogging pants Parma’s wearing cost (£750 if your interested, I wasn’t ) Ian was telling his group that last years skiing trip was great, proper silver service with servants in waistcoats etc, top London chef, Butler etc….. I’m sure it was all for our benefit.
36 hours to go till Sunday morning…
After all this, Parma has the audacity to ask me if I would drive them to Courchevel tomorrow morning as they wanted to go shopping where Posh and Becks did last year. I thought about it for a moment, and decided that if I declined, the atmosphere would be worse, and besides, I was going there anyway to drop some skis off at Les Avals.
“Yes” I said, “ill take you there but I cant bring you back again as the van is being used for the picnic, so you can catch the free bus service or grab a taxi back”
Not even a thank you,
“You will have to be ready to leave at 10.30 in order to give me time to get back again with the van”
“Why do you always insist on hurrying us along and harassing us?” Parma
Now I wish I hadn’t bothered saying yes, its not company policy anyway.
As you would expect, 10.30 came and went and it was 11.45 before they were ready to go to Courchevel on Saturday, I came so close to cancelling my offer due to their time wasting. But I stuck it out and drove them (6) to 1850, all the way there, Prada this Prada that, Louis IV, Burberry hats, my Range Rover is faster than your X5.
I just smiled into the rear view mirror and deliberately aimed for every pot hole on the way, muttering something like “I wish the French would fix their roads”
When I dropped them off in 1850, I pointed out the bus stop and taxi rank and explained once more that the bus service was free as far as La Tania and then they would need to get a cab the rest of the way.
They are big long things that stop at bus stops with about 40 seats on them and the words Courchevel in 11” high letters across the windscreen.
But oh no, there weren’t any, apparently Courchevel had no busses whatsoever…. Except one… which charged them €60 EACH for the trip back to Meribel and that cost was going to be picked up by Ski Olympic!! €360 in total as the cab company’s just laughed at them for wanting a taxi on half term Saturday. I tried to explain once more about the free bus service but figured I was fighting a losing battle.
Dinner was as pleasant as always, but this time Kara passed her daughter a glass but almost threw it at her, thus smashing all over the floor, Most people would apologise but oh no, “Kirsty clean that up before my kids cut their feet”
I decided that I wasn’t going to give any awards that evening as I would just be taking the piss and fuelling them even further so Gala dinner was not as eventful as normal, they still got the 5 courses and the black & whites. The atmosphere was still as cold as ever, Kirsty & I ate in the kitchen once more…. Less than 12 hours to go.
After dinner the kids ran riot as usual, we cleared down while trying to avoid stepping on the toys strewn about the place, Zac smashed a few more things with his ball before Kirsty and I retired for the night, after reiterating the departure procedure once again, Breakfast at 6am, leave chalet at 6.30am. That’s not difficult is it?
5am on Sunday morning we were up and about, I think it was the excitement of getting shot of the Chavs, breakfast laid out, reading a paper waiting for them to surface. They totally shocked me by coming down at 6.15am, with their bags etc, we loaded the van and just as the clock hit 6.30 they went back upstairs and started eating breakfast!! 6.45 when Steve rings asking where I am, so I use this as a lever to get them moving, poor Steve has been standing outside his gaff for 20 minutes at minus 15.
The trip to Moutiers was quiet but Steve and I filled the silence with banter, He knew how bad my lot had been so we kept away from the subject for the journey. At Moutiers I was supposed to drop them off and head for the train station to pick up 2 guests for Reberty, This would mean they have a 15 minute wait until their coach arrived. I sort of felt sorry for Steve who had to look after them but inside I was buzzing. Rid of them at last.
I spoke to Steve that evening and asked if they had said anything to him, the conversation between them went as follows:-
Steve Have you had a good time then?
Steve But we only get one day off per week
Pause…
Steve Have you got far to travel when you get back to England
Ian Not really, we live in Sheffield
Needless to say we got nothing in tips, surprise surprise.
But they should have settled the honesty bar bill; instead they just left owing around
€50
I’ve tried to make this story light hearted and interesting to read but believe me when I say this was the worst week I have seen in all my seasons in Meribel, They were the rudest, most obnoxious and up themselves people I have ever met. They had zero respect for either the chalet or us, in fact for anything to be honest.
So when your coffee goes cold, you have a bad hair or pant day, or you break a nail, spare a thought to what could happen
And remember………………………………
We have access to every toothbrush and every toilet J
