Saturday was Lisa's bridesmaid, Sarah's "open house" party. A nice evening with a bunch of people - all of whom apart from me, it appeared were experienced skiers and so, predictably, the late night conversation eventually turned to the art of plummeting unprotected down cliff faces with a couple of pieces of 2 by 4 strapped to your feet.
What puts me off skiing is partially the fact that anytime any group discusses the sport, the conversation goes something like this:
speaker 1: skiing's great fun
speaker 2: yes it is. and perfectly safe
speaker 1: that's right - I've been five times and I've only ever broken my arm twice!
speaker 3: twice? that's great. last time I went, I put my shinbone right through my neck.
speaker 1: ah - well, I've only broken my arm twice - but I do have a plastic spinal cord now.
speaker 2: yes - last year I had a bit of a trip - I'm more machine than man now.
and so on...
Still, it looks like I'm going to have to learn to ski anyway - if only so I don't panic when George flies off down the slope - I reckon I've got about five years to prepare myself for loosing a limb.
Later, probably due to the late night munching of various cheeses supplied by our hosts, I dreamt that I was pregnant.
Also featuring in the dream was a nature documentary describing a species of microbe which migrated to the moon every year in order to spawn out of the range of predators. Apparently they made their migration enclosed in little bubbles of oxygen... I'm not quite sure of the propulsion method though.