The Game

"Guys! I've got 24 hours off!" I honked at Dimi + Simona "+ you're on holiday too- let's celebrate!". The gloriously relentless sun was loyally laying down its spectacular spirit once again onto magnificence of Mont Blanc + the hugging hills surrounding, so we headed to the sunshine slopes to make movies and ski in tremendous tandem, looping + swooping around one another taking it in turns to shower each other in explosions of powder, as if each of our skis were emitting bursts of crunched crystal like smoke that for a meek moment will adopt a dramatic frozen stance, formed uniquely from the particular twisting motion of the churning trundling legs that sit upon the lollipop sticks with razor sharp edges. It was only natural that we headed for our sunshine café Le Chavanne, and it felt all the more natural bumping + grinding to Europop in 40 kilogram ski boots, rejoicing beneath the golden sun + opening my arms in appreciation to the cramped in quirky clusters of churned up rock + ice that I seem to be falling so deeply in love with.

And later that night, we played The Game. Our tight little 6 pack of Kiwis, Romanians + Brits gathered once more together to test our boundaries of courage, all cozied up in an empty chalet. Universally delirious with fatigue and fear, we coaxed one another along in revealing unravellings of performances, challenges + exposures shamefully culminating in an Anna having to throw the trebling towel in prematurely to accommodate a great need to immerse my face in the solidifying snow outside. It's a long story.