This week Aigueblanche, the eerily quiet town in which the French office is situated, bore witness to some very exciting events; Paul and I went shopping for light bulbs; the ghost-like, dirty white horse that stares at you hungrily as you pass disappeared; and Paul “won” a pool tournament because I kept potting the black...
The debate opens: do you listen to music on the slope or not? My next door neighbour is staunchly anti-music on the slopes. He loves to hear the sound of snow scrumpling beneath his skis and prefers to keep alert for the sound of the hill collapsing beneath him in a possible avalanche or for an Olympic skier zooming past from above.
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