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Sunday 2nd February 2014

4088/17007 (surely I am not going to keep that up am I? Oh, looks like I am)
A much more relaxed day, partly because it was the last day of the holiday and partly because about half of us were coming down with the lurgy. I had the beginnings of a sore throat and was very tired. I don't think it's down to the afternoon in the hot tub or my walk in the snow as others had more advanced symptoms, but it would be justice if I had picked up a disease after the smuggest of days! The French snow ploughing services are much more impressive than the UK ones and even our very minor little (barely a) road had been cleared of snow this morning. It had stopped snowing but the trees were still heavy with settled flakes and occasionally the wind would rush through them creating a mini-blizzard. A few of our number had left in the morning and all the ones who remained, even if they weren't ill, seemed to be tired and most of us fell asleep on the sofa as we watched "Summer Heights High" (no reflection on the show, which is rather good). With no medicine in the house, one of the chalet mates knocked up a hot drink made from honey, lemon and cognac which did seem to help. I headed down the road with two massive bags of bottles to go in the recycling. The bins are a bit of a walk from the house, but the little mushroom like structures  are impressively and surprisingly deep, making me wish I could stay to see how they emptied them. A lot of booze had been sunk in the last seven days, though not mainly by me.
We hoped some fresh air would help us so we walked up to the town centre to buy some cheese and wine to take home and then had a late lunch of a crepe full of cheese and ham. My body is crying out for some fruit and vegetables. I could really have done with an M & S fruit salad at this moment. Later we'd head out again to the restaurant where I largely managed to avoid eating cheese, though some of my party still had the stomach for a fondue. We had some rare internet access and found out that Philip Seymour Hoffman had died. That was a bit of a shocker to say the least. Like everyone in the world I thought he was an amazing actor (though even his presence couldn't save Patch Adam or the pre-Yewtree DJ comedy rape atrocity, The Boat That Rocked (And Was Shit)). It was put in even sharper focus when I found out he was the same age as me. I had always assumed he was older, but then I do that with most people these days, forgetting that I am old. In fact it turns out I was born 11 days before him. If it had only been the other way round then I would have a week and a half to play catch-up and appear in dozens of films and win an Oscar, but there's no catching him now, so there's no point in trying. But look what happens when you check the internet and engage with the real world. It just hurts you. Best to live in blissful ignorance in an outdoor hot tub.
I wasn't sure I would enjoy this week, but aching ankles aside it's been a lot of fun. I am looking forward to going home and getting on with a frankly somewhat overpacked February. I will miss sitting in front of the real fire in our chalet though. A fire beats the shit out of most things on TV. And there are no adverts. Unless you count the cardboard box we burnt that the Kronenburg beer came in.



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