Day One:
Injuries: 0
Cash: Plenty
Weather: Pile of pants
Essential items I have left at home: 1 adapter plug, one guide to getting the most out of a Dutch bathroom
Well the day started at 5.30am which somehow didn't feel much like a holiday. Got to Liverpool airport to find that the queue was really short - only about 8 people in front of me. Unfortunately they all seemed to have come from the 'World record check-in time' club and managed to take a good twelve minutes per person. How can you take 12 minutes to check in? Even if I handed my passport over the desk in 'bullet time' and proceeded to read my e-ticket verbatim to the check-in lady including numbers and punctuation marks I still wouldn't take twelve minutes.
Liverpool airport looks like a building site at the moment but mercifully this state of disrepair didn't stretch to the plane which looked in one piece. I had managed to remember to put on shoes that had such a slim sole that you couldn't reasonably fit any kind of explosives into them which was a bonus as I had my 'comfy' socks on which for me is a euphemism for 'full of holes and not the kind of things you want to put under the scrutiny of anyone in an official capacity'.
True to form I managed to find someone who was still drunk from the night before sitting next to me on the plane. In fairness I had sort of guessed this might happen as I had seen a gang of lads coming over to the gate late as I was going down the glass corridor to the plane and could have bet on the fact that one, if not all, were going to be sat next to me. I got 'the cute one' - the one who is obviously very comfortable and slick with women - and within seconds both bag and coat were whisked from my seat and deposited in the overhead locker for me. Shame they weren't mine but the big Dutchman next to me was very appreciative!
He did have lovely blue eyes that stood out against his perma tan but I have trouble with anyone who demands a Jack and coke with breakfast. They were out on a works do to Amsterdam (they clearly aren't saddled with the UU Cost Challenge). At that point I realised that the reason we had to put our coats and bags in the overhead locker was because we were sat at the emergency exit and had the shared responsibility for saving the lives of the people in our immediate vicinity. The hostess helpfully suggested that if we saw fire we shouldn't open the door. Was she kidding? If I saw a fire on the wing I'd be having my last cigarette and trying to cram in as many new life experiences into my final minutes as the confines of a jet plane would allow!
I explained the whole idea of my holiday to 'Blue eyes' and he said it sounded like Big Brother - ten strangers in a house for a week. God, he was right, I had paid to trap myself in Big Brother - The Chalet Years. Was I going to be the 'normal' one that got voted out on the first day? Would I have to deal with transvestites and wannabe pop stars? Who on earth would I be sharing a room with? Before I could ask the pilot to put the plane in reverse we flew into Schiphol. Has anyone else noticed how from the air the whole of Holland looks like a particularly disappointing Christmas sweater?
As my connecting flight was delayed I had the opportunity to check out the airport washrooms. This has been a hobby of mine since I discovered hosepipes in the cubicles in Dubai. Mine had one of those sensors that flushes if you move - but not necessarily if you've finished, giving you that 'surprise bidet' experience. Upon leaving the room I was only disappointed to not have taken the time to use the cubicle next to me which promised a 'wall support fixture'. Now I don't know what Dutch ladies do in toilet cubicles but I have only ever needed wall support after one too many cocktails in a nightclub when I couldn't work out which of the flat surfaces spinning around my head was the floor and therefore the most likely to have the toilet on it. I think my technique must be lacking, or maybe I should work on a more elaborate dismount. Answers on a postcard...
Anyway, I made it to Geneva and my shuttle bus company cheered me up by a) existing in reality as well as on the internet (it's always a worry), b) having a record of my booking and c) setting off early to take me to the chalet.
Even so, I was the last to arrive at the 'Big Brother' Chalet. When I got there, the host and hostess and my other three inmates (not ten of us this time and not a transvestite or pop star in sight) had already made themselves at home and had agreed on the best activities for us to do. There's a bloke called John and two women who's names I have been told but have forgotten so I am now trying to do that thing where you fish for the names without actually asking or substituting a pet name instead. There are only so many times you can call a stranger 'honeybunch' before they notice something is amiss!
On review, our line-up of activities is extensive and guaranteed to leave me either in need of medical support for a considerable period of time or in need of another holiday. Tomorrow it's white water rafting. Wish me luck.
I should probably go and be sociable now. Our host spent the dinner conversation explaining how he felt that 'Hostel' (gruesome horror film involving luring travellers to a hostel and then murdering them) could actually happen which had the same effect as explaining to a group of juicy-looking turkeys how to make stuffing.
That's it for now.
Elsie
P.s. I would have put a photo of Morzine up at this point but you can't actually see it right now as it is sat in a huge raincloud. Apparently 'It never rains like this' yeah, well I haven't chosen it as my summer holiday destination before, notice a coincidence there?
