Innsbruk again

I'm settled into the Hotel Sailor, near Bozner Platz in Innsbruck and wondering what the next few days hold for me. The trial of the woman who skied into me in on Thursday or Friday. What's more on my mind is becoming a Grandfather. Yes I suppose I can say it now. We've known for long enough for most people to know anyway, and going public isn't going to shock or surprise anyone. Everyone who needs to know, now knows.

The news is a delight, of course. Emily found out a couple of weeks ago and we have all been coming to terms with it. Naturally I'm happy for her, if she's happy and it is churlish to be anything other. But scratch the surface and it's a shock, and a whole load of fatherly concerns bubble up to the surface. Some of them selfish, and some make me weepy. My little girl. My curly locks is moving into the next phase of her life, and further away from me, as she must do and should do. It's still making me weepy though.

As if it isn't a big enough shock, she is also to be married. Again, I'm delighted for her, and for Shaun, the luck boy. No one will ever be good enough for any of my girls, but that's my problem. She, they can have all they need and I will, I will be delighted for them. Shaun is American, and they may well live in America, and if that's what they end up doing then, that's Ok and I will do what I can to facilitate that.

But I shall miss her, I really will. There, I'm proper crying now. I going to stop writing for a bit.

***

Innsbruck is the capital city of the Tyrol and literally means 'bridge' over the river 'Inns'. I'm having dinner in the restaurant of the hotel. It's too cold, and I'm too tired to venture out. I went to check where the solicitors rooms were and they are no more than a hundred meters from the hotel. I'm meeting Dr Christoph Whathisname tomorrow at 2pm. It was about now in 2008 that I spent eleven days in the university hospital here sipping soup and mash potato. Foolishly I did take notice of where I was going and nearly got lost wandering around. The sun is bright, but weak. The streets are clear and the shops modern. They clearly like their Germanic arches to drive through. The public transport also looks good, with buses and trams galore. The sales are on, but the streets are not busy. I stop for a coffee in a shop called 'Baguette'. Not a perfect baguette, but a very passable one.

The hotel is smart, a bit dated, but clean and has the Internet. The restaurant bit is on the ground floor, but made to look like it's in a cellar, for atmosphere. I sit down and am served by a Pakistani gentleman, rather incongruously, who speaks accentented but good English.

The table opposite is in an alcove and around it are three older Austrian gentleman, later joined by another man and a woman. It's clearly a weekly meeting on a Monday evening and they obviously know each other well, but I can't help getting the sense of a meeting of an underground Nazi group. I know they aren't but I could see them in a war movie, in black and white, being sociable before they go on with discussing mysteriously how to deliver Herr Hitlers dastardly orders.

I also can't help remembering that Austrians sound to Germans, from their accent. like country yokels. So I sit there imagining them plotting dark deeds in an 'ooh arh' west country accent. I can't help having a little chuckle to myself.

I've eaten too much again and am feeling very tired. Just time for a couple of beers. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?

Our last days in Val Thorens 2011

I'll have to do this later as we need to go out to enjoy ourselves.

If I can I will pick up on the themes of what we most enjoyed. Also on which three valleys exactly are the three valleys.The absence of piste bashers, skiing on ice and being uninjured at the end

It's 19.12 and we are back at the hotel and playing 'killer'. Apparently I'm being selfish doing this blog while everyone else is playing killer. Even though I'm playing killer as well.

Back to last night, and we have an evening of sitting in the bar and a sing-along with the in-house musician, well the man who plays the synthesiser. None of us had our glasses so we couldn't see the words, but we had fun. Now we're back in the bar playing a form of pool, and wondering what's for dinner. It seems Jonny hasn't yet organised the taxis back from the airport tomorrow yet. Oh well.

The three valleys are Val Thorens, Courchaval and Meribel. But then there's St Martin, Menuires, Orelle and a few other places. I'm still unclear why they are called the three valleys, but I'm sure there's a good reason.Today's skiing was difficult. It was icy and there were lots of people, but I survived it and was glad when someone (else) suggested going down early for some food. Anyway we have had a good week and I do feel better for having come, and much more confident. I am highly relieved to be injury free.

Now for the final decision. Who is to get the Mike Hipkins award? This is the award given to the person who has contributed most to the week. It's my decision as the current holder, and it was not presented last year. I wonder who it will be.

And the award goes to Dave. Well it had to really for his spectacular contribution to the week, and confirming the need for helmets.

La Caron

The French medical system may be lauded, and it is good, but no better than ours. Dave had fallen against a wall and lacerated his ear, quite badly. He needed expert sewing. That's why I was in the waiting room of the Val Thorens medical centre.

Last night we had made a slightly better show of apres ski. We had gone out, but were still back in bed for 10pm. We went to the Frog and Steak (weird name for a bar) and we saw a rocking band. Although there are Irish and Danish bars, there isn't an English bar, but this comes closest to one. It is full of English, there's an English band on, and a Yard of Ale challenge for anyone foolish enough. The band played some of the old classic tunes, reminding me of Harvey. Although not quite following our routine, they play tunes like 'born to be wild', 'jumping jack flash' and 'House of the rising sun'. No 'Knights in White Satin'. In the other bars the juke box played tunes, eighty percent of which were on my ipod. Meanwhile we are the oldest rockers in town and completely ignored by the younger contingent who, no doubt, wonder if we know any these modern songs.

So today we set off up to the highest point of the Val Thorens resort. The glacier at La Caron. The ski helmet debate raged, with the 'faster skiers' still not really thinking this item is for them. The more nervous of us had ours. Apparently Aldi had done a good deal on them. Peter and Jonny are proud of theirs. The others don't bother. I have mine of course.

We head for what seems literally at the top of the world. This the reason we go skiing. The scenery and the pistes. The views. Perfect for skiing. A perfect skiing morning. Jagged sharp white mountain tops and icy blue sky. The bright sun contrasting with the stinging wind that whistles through your helmet and iceburns your forehead till it hurts.

But Dave is in a hurry to meet his friends from home. His Newark friends who are also here, and whom he wants to impress. After delaying him deliberately for as long as possible we hurtle off to our rendezvous point. This is when the accident happened.

In his haste to meet up, Dave slipped on some ice and crashed into the stone wall of the hut we had stopped at. Blood everywhere and when the commotion had settled, an inch slice in his upper cartilaginous ear lobe. That's why I'm sitting in a medical centre waiting room and wondering how long it can take to sew up an ear.

The waiting room is the same as an English waiting room. Busy with patient people, out of date magazines, and unhelpful receptionists. The others have gone off to a bar, and after an hour or so Dave emerges with a bandage on his head. He shows me the stitches. Very impressive. There must be fifteen or more, tiny, carefully done stitches. Cosmetic surgery quality.

Later in the bar he is quite proud of his injury, but under no circumstances are we to tell his wife before he does and he gets home.

Now it's over we can have a bit of a laugh about it, and as someone says 'It could have been worse...It could have been me!' At least the helmet debate was resolved.

Day 4 - Meribel

Last night we were all tucked up at 10pm. It is true that what goes on tour should stay on tour, but until now I don't think there would have been much to talk about anyway. Yesterday was a tiring day for sure. We're not getting any younger.

Today we were off again at 10 am. Another good day's skiing. 'You know, it's funny how it used to be only old men knew where all the toilets are' observes Steve,'Well we are pretty good at knowing where they are now', as we stop for an early morning wee.
The toilets generally leave a lot to be desired all over the resort, which is surprising as I thought this was one of the more prestigious ones in France.

Tonight we're determined to put up a better show, in the apres ski department. We're heading for the Frog and Steak or something. Dave has heard it was rocking last night so that's what is going to happen.

We're carved the arse off the mountain, I think the expression is, and now I am cream crackered again. Still, no rest. A quick coffee in the bar and I'm going to have to get ready.

We have skied a lot today actually, then a late lunch before realising it's nearly 4.00 and half of the mountain is emptying onto the last lift. A crowded mixture of the speedy impatient types and the nervous cautious ones, all make the final descent. An hair raising event. Still focus on technique, remember what you've been taught and finally, and safely, into the boot room. Actually, at our hotel there isn't a boot room, just a ski room. We have to take the boots up to our room. A welcome toilet break and here I am in the bar wondering if I can get away with not going out tonight. No chance. See you later. Wish me luck.

Day 3 in Val Thorens

Day 3 in Val Thorens was much better than Day 2, and very much better than Day 1. Today we woke after a long sleep and had a leisurely breakfast. We stayed together today and were joined by Peter (Hayes). Actually, he's the reason we're here at all.

When the boys finished their tour last year Jonny was designated tourmiester for 2011. They had been to Heavenly, at Lake Tahoe, which, according to them was fantastic, if quiet. They wanted something more exciting this time. Oh, and cheaper. I didn't go as I just had my vertebral artery dissection and visual field loss, so I thought it best not to go. Some say I shouldn't be going this year either, but as Steve says 'them as say that can put their slippers on and watch Emerdale' and wisely 'you're a long time dead'. I suppose I do want to delay that life event for as long as possible, but I can't stand Emerdale, Corrie is more my soap.

Apparently Jonny, in his usual way, decided to go for the easy option, and decided to go where Peter was going to anyway. I suspect he got Peter to do most of it, although Peter seems to have got a better deal altogether. A later flight, shorter transfer, and a hotel with a sauna. So that's why we have come to Val Thorens, the highest village in Europe, and actually, it's lovely. The sky has been bright bright blue with aeroplane streaks like chalk marks. The mountains have been sharp and white. The temperature is cold. Minus 15 degrees they say. It is perfect skiing weather, but we're not going to tell Johny. If you don't enjoy skiing here, don't go skiing.

Just briefly, Day 1 consisted of getting up early, too early, for a flight to Grenole, then a four hour transfer to Val Thorens. None of us was particularly thrilled, but Dave, as is usual, made the most fuss. Well he does get travel sick. Anyway, much of Day 1 was spent moaning at Jonny. This men's group would not be what it is without considerable moaning. Light hearted of course, but moaning with basis in truth. We wouldn't moan without justification, now would we?

Interestingly no one offered to organise the trip next time. It is the poison chalice handed on at the end of every trip.

Once in Val Thorens, and after moaning about the hotel, which doesn't have a pool or sauna(another basic requirement for the boys), we set out to find the bars. Buzzing is not what I would have called Val Thorens, but it is change-over day, so perhaps it will be better tomorrow. Still I got my ski hire, and we saw Manchester United on the tele.

Tomorrow is Day 2. Everyone slept soundly, except for my room mate Paul, who accused me of keeping him awake with snoring. Complete lies of course. After breakfast it's out on the slopes. I must say I was feeling pretty nervous, and was a bit wobbly. Still the lads looked after me. Well until the last run, when traditionally it is everyone for himself.

Yes I got lost, well I lost them really. I was supposed to know they were turning left when they di. I also came across a large patch of ice and fell. Then so did lots of other people, and I began to think someone was going to ski into me and frankly lost some nerve, and came home.

I was just settling down to writing my blog when they returned to the hotel. They had waited for me. I didn't mind really and was glad to be back in one piece.

We went off for a beer, or two, well several really. There was a Danish bar that had a live band on. They were playing Cold play, and other stuff that was on my i-pod. Brilliant.

So today, with Peter now with us. He's been staying with another group elsewhere. We had a wonderful days skiing. My confidence has returned and am skiing much better. Still crouching, they say, but much more confident.'Try going a bit faster' Steve offers helpfully 'it'll make it easier for you, it's like driving in the fast lane of a motorway, much safer as there isn't the traffic'. I nod agreement, although not entirely convinced by the analogy. I have to agree with Steve, he's much bigger than me.

Another days skiing over, and time for another beer. It is worth celebrating after all, being alive. Alive AND kicking.

Now, it's Monday isn't it? A double episode of Corrie for later. Where's my slippers?

Thorneythwaite, January 2011

It's Thursday already. Last weekend I was on a Men's group weekend. This is the blog I wrote at the time.
16th January

'Right, that's it. no more talk of anal probes' Ged declares. Ironic really (I think), because it was him who started it.

We're having breakfast in the cottage at Thorneythwaite on our first weekend away for over a year. Come to think of it we haven't met for months, not since I suggested discussing the viability of the group. Is that ironic too?

Still we're here now. Ged, me and Steve came up last night in the van. Steve's van. As we were driving along the very straight A66 in the dark ('it's a Roman Road, you know' Steve correctly points out), the lights did make it a plausible landing strip. The headlights of the cars in the rain could, I suppose, have been mistaken for Alien UFOs. Why is it always anal probes with these Aliens?'Ged had asked rhetorically. And that's how it started.
A desert thermometer in the kitchen helped to perpetuate the visual image.

The final straw, that morning, was a wooden stirring rod, a definite anal probe.

On our way up on that previous evening in the van, we had listened and chuckled to the news quiz on the radio. After that we confirmed our grumpy old man status by complaining about our children's use of the language. Why use the word 'of' when they mean 'have', and 'lend' when they mean 'borrow'. When did we become grumpy old men?

During breakfast Ken phoned up from Thailand. It must have been night time for him. He sent his love and we sent ours to him.

After breakfast I set off on my own. Why, I don't know. I'd forgotten my waterproofs and got completely soaked. The rain is 'literally' coming down in stair rods, and the water pouring down the roads literally, like a river. Fortunately, the others catch me up in the van. John has stayed behind as he's not feeling too well. They pick me up and drive to Glenrryding. Luckily the outward bound shop is open, and I buy a swanky new pair of dry trousers.

We set off from the car park up the hill. The rain is now even wetter, with a driving wind straight into our faces. Still I'm warm and dry in my new £70 trousers. Tim had promised to take us on a sheltered route. He lied.

We ascend gently and at the top turn to admire the view. The vertical waves of rain and the grey skies do not diminish the strange beauty of Ullswater. We always come to the Lakes in winter as a men's group and miss the multicoloured autumn and vibrant spring. This wet winter view is none the less inspiring and we stare at it for several minutes. It is odd to see Ullswater without any boats, and a grey washed out landscape, like the sky, in need of sunshine and warmth.

The conversation turns to trivia. 'Did you know' chirps up the Gordie Nigel Pargiter, noticing a Puffin badge on Steve's coat 'that Puffins Numbers are back on the increase?' Err, thanks Ged. ' Yes' replies Steve, so as not to be outdone, 'and there are lots of them on Staffa. You can go right up to them, you know'. ' And geese flying to Greenland have more bodily fat than they need' asserts Steve in an attempt to replace Ian as the group know-it-all. Actually, there's no contest, but we have a laugh anyway. We're all still grieving, well I say all, some are still grieving over the loss of Nigel as he fell off the roof with a bloodcurdling scream. 'I'd like it as my ring tone' says Steve sympathetically.

Yes folks, this is my men's group. We've been together for 19 years now. We're not a frivolous group, not always. We talk about meaningful stuff, at least we used to. Like, you know, parenthood and how to be a great father, how to be a loving partner, and the role of men in a post feminist society and response to it's challenges. Yes and we are still apologists for men and make excuses for the behaviour of women. Well I think that's what we did. The wives and partners allowed us to go, as it would be good for us.

On the way,though, we've lost Ian for various reasons. Ken has become a Buddhist monk, and left for a mid-life gap year, or two. Apparently, the Buddha didn't like hanging around for the rainy season so monks have to travel. Ken, or Tan Sucitto which is his Buddhist name, tells us, via the medium of Skype. Sammapatipadarama is his Skype name. It's a hard life, and such a solitary life, poor sod.

After lunch it's time to do our 'task'. Roger says we have to write something, anything, and then read it to the others. What Roger says we do. He's not bossy, actually quite the opposite, but the is the last remaining organiser, and if we didn't do what he says we wouldn't do Anything. In any case we need to do Something. I've brought a couple of pieces that I prepared earlier, but I think I'll read this one.

I know what will happen. I'll come to the end, then they'll be silence, and John will say 'So how's you love life coming on?' Excellent, back to safe territory, and back to anal probing.

Post Script

We actually did deal with some very challenging and emotionally draining stuff, we took risks and worked hard. John and I made up, and the purpose and vitality of the group re-energised and re-established. I think after 19 years that's what it needs. So we did talk about the group's viability after all.

New Year, new status

This year has already started brilliantly. I can't say how yet as both good news items have to be kept under wraps for different reasons. Meanwhile I enjoyed the game at Old Trafford today. Alright then, both involve a change in status for me. Exciting.

1st January 2011

'Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never ...' the rest of the words blur a little as we clutch each other in a circle, bouncing our locked arms to the rhythm of the tune. It is another year over, and a new one just begun, as the Christmas song declares prematurely. Another year over of false dawns and relationships, one less year before the final reckoning, and how many left I wonder. The last year has brought it's successes and smiles, no question. My favourite fluke was to meet Siva Subramien who put me in touch with Dr Paul Cheung CEO of the medical group that has provided me with a big dilemma. Should I stay, or should I go? I've also made huge steps towards getting heart services modernised in central Manchester. Long way to go though, but the cup is half full, still. There's a new partner in the practice and the prospect of doing more cardiology work in the community. Smiles have included meeting all those cousins in Mauritius I never thought existed and Vivianne's joy at bringing it all together. It was also the year I had to accept giving up driving. I don't miss it that much. Sometimes it would be good to speed off somewhere, but not driving has made me plan better and be less rushed. Fee went, Sarah came and went, and briefly Julie and Alison too. I think I'm a bit stayed now to go for a full relationship. Ade ran up earlier and we caught up, as much as you can on the phone. The TV strikes midnight, there's a flurry of text activity, only no-one can get through, but it's nice to hear from people. It must be some sort of test. Who are the people you most want to text of new year's day? That reminds me, I should ring my parents later today. Peter and Sheila have text but not Heather yet. I'm at the Buddens house with a select gathering. Mr and Mrs Hennel and their wards, Wally and Jo, Jamie and Clare and Alison. The heavy Scottish presence, or should that be 'intrusion', means the Scottish TV bring us the New Year with the sound of the pipes. On the other channel fireworks over the London eye bring us back to England. Outside Chinese lanterns are released into the night sky. It is quite beautiful to see these anonymous prayers drift by in a moment shared with others in Manchester. I don't know how this tradition started, but I'm going to join in next time. Many are, of course, not here but I text my children and Anne, Andy, Ian, Phil, and Steve. Other ex-wives and girlfriends are out of bounds, but I give them a thought too and a little prayer of my own for their well being. Should old acquaintance be forgot? Nah, it would be like disowning your past and forgetting who you are.