Roman holiday

Audrey Hepburn looks down upon me from the wall, her face forever immortalised in thousands, if not millions, of images just like this one. The look, the face, the smile, that combination of style and grace which so few people are able to achieve. Happy cinematic memories merge with equally happy thoughts of a frantic weekend and all I can do is but smile.

22 men and some grass

Twenty two men kick a white ball across a pitch of green'ish grass. The ball goes one way and then another. A man falls down, and then another. One man is sent off for running into another man a little bit too hard. The spectators get very excited, irrespective of what is happening on the pitch and millions of men (and women) around the world talk utter gibberish whilst watching the whole encounter on the television.

Young people enter the bar and give away free cigarettes, comments are made about how strange this country is, people start discussing whether you should support one team just because they come from London and someone jokes about Elephant culling in Africa.

And whilst all this goes on, and whilst I slowly (very slowly) sip my beer, a whole number of songs run through my head bringing a smile to my face.

Distance

735km doesn't seem that much, but it might as well be several light years. With all the traveling we make as part of our daily lives, the distances between us can seem so small, but in many ways it is more pronounced than ever. Instead of walking over to someone's desk I send them an email, as walking to Delhi isn't really an option. Instead of shouting to the person next to me I pick up the phone, as my voice doesn't extend as far as Berlin. Yet beyond work, the distance seems more mental than physical, an imaginary divide that separates me from my home. In two days time I will board a plane and will hopefully end up where I want to be. The physical separation will be gone (a short bus ride is all that there will be) but the distance will still remain and it will appear more unreachable than ever.

Fragments

The boy sits on the beach throwing dark stones into the cold swirling mass of the Severn before him. At the same time his father busies himself scouring the desolate shore hoping to unearth fossils in the stones scattered all around.

The rest is all a blur but fragments of the memory appears so vivid. The hammer to break the stones in my fathers hand, the colour and shape of the fossilised remains, the cold biting wind heading out to sea. All seems so real as if it happened only yesterday. When did this all take place I don't remember. A long time ago is all I can say. Why this comes into my mind I have no idea, but the memory lingers just like the day that I remember.

A cold sense of irony

Funny how one of the sponsors of Eurosport's winter Olympic coverage is Exxon Mobil (or Esso as they are known in Europe). Is it just me or is there any irony in a major oil company, which refuses to accept global warming, sponsoring an event which is at direct risk of climate change?

Below the snow line

Traveling back to Geneva, the lyrics of a certain Clash song play in my head. My body aches and the bruises are starting to show but the song continues to play on repeat. It is telling me something I know.....

A wonder in more ways than one

Melting snow slides under my feet as I explore Chamonix by night. People of different nationalities and languages merge into one mass consumed by the night. As I walk, the snow continues to fall seemingly from all sides as the wind carries it around me. But now a beacon calls me home and I shall see what the evening reveals.

People

New people, new conversation. Can't say I think it is all for me, but interesting none the less.

Chamonix

My skiing is terrible (truly awful) and my body seems incapable to following my mind. No surprise perhaps as my thoughts fly like the crows the hover above us. I drift from one reality to another, the beauty of the surroundings the perfect backdrop for dreams and imagination. The sheer pleasure of seeing the power of nature fills me with awe.

And, behind my sunglasses I look around me and the sheer stupidity of people dressed like space men throwing themselves off a mountain top.

Resumption of service

Two weeks, lots of skiing, a few falls, far too much alcohol and a few cigarettes later. Am absolutely shattered but ready to do it all again. Which is just as well, as that's exactly what I'm doing tomorrow. France here I come (again).