Coupe de Monde

As the temperature cranks down into the catastrophic, resulting in any bare flesh instantly turning to fire, then disabling numbness and eventually to shear crystals of ice. Eyes pouring with tears of determination as I tried not to give into the shutting down desires of my frozen body- but escalating to 3000 metres on solid iced chair lifts even with three pairs of long johnnies on was beginning to evolve into a Smith, frozen forever. Abandoning well intentioned Saturday morning pursuits, we fled into town in an attempt to watch some world champions fight it out in the World Cup downhill comps which to our grave disappointment we'd missed by a few hours. We still got to dance around to slightly skewiff ska forming the after buzz event and it did a fine job at keeping frostbite at bay for a short time; wiggling about like constricted stars with all our hundreds of layers on meant that our moves were drastically unimaginative, but it was still kind of epic hearing loud music beneath the freezing magenta mountains, with theatrical still motion clouds lurching + lingering as if attempting to spell out words or create dream like illustrations as if extracted from a romanticised Disney film or over embellished oil painting to guide us firmly into the night. Hot wine and jiggling about kept us going through the award ceremony and although I didn't know who any of the people were or what they were saying, I was still suitably star struck by the whole affair. Then to MBC [which, friends who are soon to be visiting, we are most certainly taking you to!] for the best veggie burger that surely exists, home brewed wheat beer + jangling around to a cover band called The Pisty Boys- our actions for some reason attracted an collective array of ashamed looks from unimpressed tables of dismayed people. Perhaps they've never seen people dance as if no one is watching before, but from where I come from, this is accepted as the norm. Non? After a few handstands in the snow from Ems truly it was time to cadge a ride home with a nice couple from Switzerland, the sky itching to bleed snow but the shear plummeting levels on the thermometer turning the flakes to trickles of circulating frozen glitter, shimmering when caught in the artificial lights cranked into action to lead the way until the next late sunrise over this fine bundle of rocks we've found ourselves so caught up in.

I've noticed a trend all of a sudden with my Blip entries- I get so carried away attempting to dissect the unfoldings of each day which the photo is referenced to, that I forget to even pretend to try and appear as though I've approached the visual with true creative critique- in today's case, there would be no way I could try and claim it to be a radical or conceptual new wave idea- it's just Dan and Anna plonking around at the festival pretending to have ripped bodies luxuriating in a hot tub [that for once isn't swimming in slime..]