I expect this is what Peter thinks after he's tried to coach me to improve my skiing. (I ski like a moribund goblin...courageous though!)
It's just that a) He's my husband and what wife takes too kindly to an overdose of instructions from her man? b) I don't understand half of what he says!
Here are some examples of the sorts of things Peter shouts to me as I'm weaving and wobbling my way down the slope with varying degrees of control:
"Change your centre of gravity to the downhill ski, chest facing the fore line!" Oh yeah, of course...
"Plant your pole on that mogul then unweight your skis." Absolutely. Immediately.
But then, on another skiing holiday, my friend Lucy said "Imagine you've got a tube of chocolate sauce under your big toe and you need to squeeze some onto a profiterole." Now that made ABSOLUTE SENSE to me!
Anyway, today we had a very civilised and much less demanding day. And I can't think of anything silly I did at all. Boring.
I can think of silly things other people did though. One example. We were all climbing (slowly and painfully) down a long flight of steps from a ski lift to the slopes. Six abreast. Like cattle. Half way down, a teenage girl stopped and began to text.
I thought a taser might be useful for these situations.
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