Greetings earthlings! Frohliche Weihnachten! That is Merry Christmas in German, oh uncultured ones. (I took the initiative and asked Jeeves). I have just returned from the land of gluwein and goulash with a giant Tyrolean jumper. I mean a proper one, with a reindeer pattern, a George Michael in the ‘Last Christmas’ video one. I’m sure it will make men quiver with lust on viewing. Disastrously I was in Innsbruck and only Salzburg
Still I was feeling Christmassy. It was snowing, there was yodelling, what more could you possibly want? Well there was one problem.
The main issue arising from spending time in a snow clad ski resort is that if you don’t ski you look A) like a bit of a loser/wannabe middle class joy rider and B) you will be lacking in entertainment and variety big time! As a result, going up the cable car without skiing equipment in a very dodgy looking puffa jacket raised a few eyebrows from the too cool for school Austrian teenagers. Well screw them! If I want to go to the top of the mountains and pretend that they are the misty mountains of Mordor then that is my prerogative/sad state of affairs. I got to the top, or near to the top. Actually not very near the top. I sat on a bench near the café. I yelled a bit under the pretence of feeling the great might and awe of nature but really I just wanted to avalanche the Austrian teenage skiers into oblivion. You see, despite being terminally middle class, as a ski novice I have no notion of ski etiquette, particularly regarding the chair lifts which look like a particularly dangerous staircase to heaven. I decided in a moment of madness that it would be fun just to ride the ski chairs a couple of times. Who cares if I didn’t have skis or a snowboard, how discriminating! They go round and round like a conveyor belt so what harm could it do? Ski chairs are perfect for an over imaginative disposition. I was thinking along the lines of a fantastic James Bond moment when Roger Moore (it would be far too silly for Sean Connery) escapes the villains after some impressive skiing moves with a very ‘realistic’ body double and is subsequently propelled by an effective gadget onto the chair lift. After burying his victims in the snow, Roger Moore raises an eyebrow and utters, ‘Well, they’ve found themselves snowed under!’ chortle, chortle, sexist remark, smoulder. This is what I was thinking when I attempted to embark on my mission. I swaggered over to the skiers and tried to jump onto the ski chair. I was met with a very loud and angry Austrian man who promptly stopped the whole ski chair circuit. The party of skiers hanging in mid air were not impressed. Apparently if I had got on without skis I would have had to jump off at the top which, without skis, could have sent me hurtling down the mountain, or I could have stayed on the chair lift which turns upside down on the way back which would have sent me hurtling down the mountain. If I were James Bond I would have had a jet ski in my rucksack and would have reached the ground to safety just in time to bed the bimbo before the credits roll. Unfortunately I had no jet ski and left with my tail between my legs off the mountain under the gaze of the furrowed brow of the livid Austrian. Party pooper.
In an attempt to redeem myself in Austrian etiquette, I thought I would take in a traditional Austrian classical concert. How civilised! Unfortunately for me I have not had much experience in this field of music. The last ‘classical’ concert I had been to was when I was 10 years old and playing the clarinet in one of those poorly organised school affairs where parents watch with glazed eyes and cotton wool shoved in their ears. I had been taking joint clarinet lessons for a year with a friend. She had progressed far quicker than me and had been given the coveted role of playing Elvis Presley’s ‘Love me Tender’ on the clarinet. Not wanting to leave me out, (although in retrospect I bet she wished she’d had) my teacher excitedly informed me that my great sonata would be the Eastenders theme tune, a piece revered by audiences all over and renowned in classical circles as being akin to Chopin, Schubert and Bach. So the big day arrived and my proud parents, brother and grandfather all took the front row to support my great talent. A lot of kids went before me, doing nice twiddly bits on the piano, whilst their pushy parents whooped and hollered at them like dissident politicians in PM’s question time. I think the only thing I thought I could do to alleviate this dire situation was to attack the ‘piece’ with force. I played the Eastenders theme tune with gusto but unfortunately was far too over exuberant and forgot to suck in my cheeks. I ended up looking like a blowfish on ecstasy and swiftly left the stage to lack lustre applause. More embarrassment was to follow. The next boy on the stage was clearly very nervous and clearly took music very seriously. He spent ages tuning up his oboe and clearing his throat authoritatively. Just when he was about to play the first note, my younger brother, who is an expert in spontaneous flatulence produced the greatest, longest, loudest rattler that I have ever heard in my entire life. Deathly silence followed. The boy on stage looked bewildered. Cue my dad, who could never resist playing the comedian. He ushered the immortal line ‘what a bum note’. I sunk deeper in my chair and hid my face in my hands. Everyone exploded with laughter and my music teacher gave my family a look of absolute disgust. It was as though we had wiped our arses on a Mozart script.
Massive digression but the point is….. well there is no point really. I just wanted to get a fart joke in. The festive spirit of Innsbruck
Quite frankly the Austrian concert passed without any amusing incidents and was dull as dishwater. I think next time I’ll stick to the old boy with a zither. He was high on a hill with a lonely goat herd……
Quite frankly the Austrian concert passed without any amusing incidents and was dull as dishwater. I think next time I’ll stick to the old boy with a zither. He was high on a hill with a lonely goat herd……
Disclaimer: Contrary to what this blog might have you believe, I did not travel to Austria
No comments:
Post a Comment