Pot kettle

Clouds bubble up and down the valley below us, and, sometimes,
around us. Scenery disappears.

There’s an occasional glimpse of Les Ruinettes up the hill. Sometimes
it beckons me towards it, teasing me with its visibility; then it
disappears into the mist and I regain my lazy sense.

I play instructor to Andy, making him perform stupid tricks like
jumping in the air along a traverse. Whenever he stops I urge him to
keep skiing. I tell him (and Melanie) he needs to try harder runs to
get better, and luckily nobody responds with “So why are you
here then?”.


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