against Andrew’s pitiless behaviour, so perhaps Gilles is a surrogate male for me to torment? I know I should be more evolved than this, but that actually sounds like a lot of fun.
Now I can’t wait to catch them up.
CHAPTER SIX
‘What next?’ Gilles asks when I rejoin them.
‘Something as far from the snow sculptures as possible,’ I suggest. I can tell we’re making the other artists nervous.
‘I have just the thing,’ Annique looks minxish. ‘The Tornado.’
‘Sounds relaxing,’ I mumble as we follow her bite-size bottom up and up a steep slope.
‘That is the raft.’ She points to a robust yellow inflatable last seen on the Colorado rapids. ‘The circular one is the Tornado, because it rotates as it descends.’
And what a descent.
‘They really pick up speed on the way down the hill, don’t they?’ I croak.
‘Oh yes. Great fun!’
I hesitate. ‘I’m not a hundred per cent sure about this.’
‘Nothing bad will happen, we can all go together – it takes eight people.’
‘Well then I’d like the other five to include a priest and a paramedic.’
‘Oh Krista!’ Annique tuts. ‘You will love it!’
I decide to give it a shot. Now if I could just get in.
With all my swaddlings I can barely lift my leg high enough to get up and over; I have to be assisted and thus enter the group with an unladylike squeak of rubber.
‘ Excusez-moi ,’ I blush.
Wanting to feel secure, I reach out to grab the outer straps, only to have my hands smacked away.
‘Those are what the guys use to spin us.’
‘Well, what do I hold onto?’
Annique takes one hand and urges Gilles to take charge of the other.
‘I need both hands for the camera,’ he excuses himself.
‘Grab his knee!’ Annique hoots.
‘Oh no, I’ll be fine!’ I say, but then the second we are in motion I find myself grabbing him way too high on the thigh and nothing can persuade me to loosen my grip. ‘Oh my god, oh my god!’
I can’t believe how fast we are spinning; it’s just as dizzying as a fairground Wurlitzer, only with the added sensation of plummeting to your death.
While the others whoop with childish glee, my scream is pure high-pitched terror; but then a funny thing happens – as I clamber out I find myself saying, ‘I actually quite enjoyed that.’
‘Want to go again?’ Annique pips.
‘You may have to.’ Gilles looks less than enthralled as he reviews the pictures on his camera. ‘These are very close.’
He shows me a particularly graphic shot of my fillings.
‘Should’ve gone for porcelain,’ I tut myself.
‘I think it is best I shoot you from here with the long lens.’
‘Okay,’ I say as I contemplate the trek back to the top – my own personal Everest.
‘Wait,’ Annique places her suede-gloved hand on my arm. ‘Let me ask if one of these guys can take you up.’
She approaches a pair of snowmobilers, assigned the task of vrooming the inflatables back up for the next trip. Now that looks like a fun way to travel.
‘So, they can’t take you on the snowmobile without a helmet, but you could sit in the raft and they will pull you up.’
Of course. Anything that makes me look mildly foolish – the only person getting dragged up a hill as everyone else whooshes down.
As I get into position and we begin to move, I feel like one of the kiddiwinks being pulled along by their parents, only on a grander scale – these machines are pretty fierce. I hadn’t fully registered just how close to a motorcycle they are; they had always seemed more like plastic playthings to me, but they’re chunky and mean and noisy.
‘Turn to face me,’ Gilles calls after me. ‘Arms up!’
Yeah right! I think to myself. I’m holding on for dear life. Up and up we go at an ever-more unnatural angle. To my left, groups are swirling by, squealing and waving their hands in the air. Perhaps I could do one quick, ‘Woo-hoo!’ at the camera? He’d better get this, I think as I twist around and
Now I can’t wait to catch them up.
CHAPTER SIX
‘What next?’ Gilles asks when I rejoin them.
‘Something as far from the snow sculptures as possible,’ I suggest. I can tell we’re making the other artists nervous.
‘I have just the thing,’ Annique looks minxish. ‘The Tornado.’
‘Sounds relaxing,’ I mumble as we follow her bite-size bottom up and up a steep slope.
‘That is the raft.’ She points to a robust yellow inflatable last seen on the Colorado rapids. ‘The circular one is the Tornado, because it rotates as it descends.’
And what a descent.
‘They really pick up speed on the way down the hill, don’t they?’ I croak.
‘Oh yes. Great fun!’
I hesitate. ‘I’m not a hundred per cent sure about this.’
‘Nothing bad will happen, we can all go together – it takes eight people.’
‘Well then I’d like the other five to include a priest and a paramedic.’
‘Oh Krista!’ Annique tuts. ‘You will love it!’
I decide to give it a shot. Now if I could just get in.
With all my swaddlings I can barely lift my leg high enough to get up and over; I have to be assisted and thus enter the group with an unladylike squeak of rubber.
‘ Excusez-moi ,’ I blush.
Wanting to feel secure, I reach out to grab the outer straps, only to have my hands smacked away.
‘Those are what the guys use to spin us.’
‘Well, what do I hold onto?’
Annique takes one hand and urges Gilles to take charge of the other.
‘I need both hands for the camera,’ he excuses himself.
‘Grab his knee!’ Annique hoots.
‘Oh no, I’ll be fine!’ I say, but then the second we are in motion I find myself grabbing him way too high on the thigh and nothing can persuade me to loosen my grip. ‘Oh my god, oh my god!’
I can’t believe how fast we are spinning; it’s just as dizzying as a fairground Wurlitzer, only with the added sensation of plummeting to your death.
While the others whoop with childish glee, my scream is pure high-pitched terror; but then a funny thing happens – as I clamber out I find myself saying, ‘I actually quite enjoyed that.’
‘Want to go again?’ Annique pips.
‘You may have to.’ Gilles looks less than enthralled as he reviews the pictures on his camera. ‘These are very close.’
He shows me a particularly graphic shot of my fillings.
‘Should’ve gone for porcelain,’ I tut myself.
‘I think it is best I shoot you from here with the long lens.’
‘Okay,’ I say as I contemplate the trek back to the top – my own personal Everest.
‘Wait,’ Annique places her suede-gloved hand on my arm. ‘Let me ask if one of these guys can take you up.’
She approaches a pair of snowmobilers, assigned the task of vrooming the inflatables back up for the next trip. Now that looks like a fun way to travel.
‘So, they can’t take you on the snowmobile without a helmet, but you could sit in the raft and they will pull you up.’
Of course. Anything that makes me look mildly foolish – the only person getting dragged up a hill as everyone else whooshes down.
As I get into position and we begin to move, I feel like one of the kiddiwinks being pulled along by their parents, only on a grander scale – these machines are pretty fierce. I hadn’t fully registered just how close to a motorcycle they are; they had always seemed more like plastic playthings to me, but they’re chunky and mean and noisy.
‘Turn to face me,’ Gilles calls after me. ‘Arms up!’
Yeah right! I think to myself. I’m holding on for dear life. Up and up we go at an ever-more unnatural angle. To my left, groups are swirling by, squealing and waving their hands in the air. Perhaps I could do one quick, ‘Woo-hoo!’ at the camera? He’d better get this, I think as I twist around and
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