Day Two, and Others
Apologies for not publishing every day, but we are very busy and before you know it, it’s time for bed. Here are some stories we’d like to share now. Others will follow soon.
Mr Duff Totals a Tourist.
Margaret Thatcher once famously said, “You turn if you want to; the Lady’s not for turning.” Now, it’s probably true to say that that having spent all his teen years in the 80s, Mr Duff hasn’t spent his adult years being nostalgic about Thatcherism, but today something about those words were influencing, even controlling him because he was just not for turning. Even on the baby slope and with his instructor’s words in his ears, “All you have to do is...” he just could not do it. There was a clear disconnect between the brain of the ageing English teacher and his legs, and it wouldn’t be long before something went badly wrong. But like any good story, it did not go straight to the climactic point of action. No: there were clues, hints (foreshadowing we call it in English) and downright warnings of impending doom. It was as if Mr Duff was building up to his big moment. First, he narrowly avoided a queueing bunch of baby skiers, all kitted out in their Davos Ski School tabards. Then, there was the coming together with the polycarbonate tunnel, housing the travelator, where he managed to alarm a line of skiers, slowly ascending to the top. They must have thought they had been magically transported to a zoo and some raging, mad orangutan-like-man had decided enough was enough and decided to test the strength of his cage. You would have thought that this would have prompted a change in approach, but like a piece of performance art based on Einstein’s definition of insanity, the now frustrated and somewhat exhausted Mr Duff continued doing the same thing, somehow expecting different results. Well, they were different, but not in a good way. This time there was collateral damage, in the shape of a middle-aged woman and very nearly, her friend too.
As usual, Mr (what are my legs for?) Duff was out of control, careering down the slope, when to his horror, two women appeared in his line of vision and direction of travel. Both had their backs towards the juggernaut heading straight towards them and at that crucial point Mr Duff’s brain, overloaded by visions of the aftermath to come, also switched off his power of speech. For the woman left standing, it must have been a very confusing moment; one second her friend was there and the next she had vanished. The explanation of where she had gone was soon revealed when Mr Duff and his passenger crashed into the tunnel. A new experience for this poor woman, but not Mr Duff. Even worse: she took the brunt of the collision and was sandwiched between the clear polycarbonate tunnel and the, by now, rather sweaty, heaving mass of Mr Duff shaped blubber, who in a gallant effort to reduce the impact had wrapped his arms around her, only to have planted a hand in a somewhat inappropriate spot! Red-faced, and attempting apologies in a variety of languages - well, English and French really - Mr Duff untangled himself from the now shrieking woman. At that precise moment, the only thought in his head was: “What is a Swiss prison cell like?” And it seemed to get worse; the friend appeared, to comfort her talk partner. “This is it thought Mr Duff; they’re going to turn on me at any moment.” He stood trembling, sending ripples down his borrowed salopettes, but still trying to muster a coherent apology. But then, in a final twist in this sorry tale, both women turned to Mr Duff and began apologising in a variety of gestures and utterances.
After what seemed like hours to Mr Duff but was only actually a matter of seconds, the two women left the scene. Stunned, Mr Duff struggled back up the hill to the safety of his instructor, who was able to explain the response of the women: “Any fool who stands on a beginners’ slope, with their back to the skiers deserves to get clattered!” Don’t you just love ski etiquette?
We said it was the final twist, but like a jump-scare horror movie, there was one final shock left. About 10 minutes later, in what can only be described as a ‘hit’, Mr Duff was taken out in spectacular style by a very small child. Dazed, with cartoon birds chirping around his head, Mr Duff slowly opened his eyes and in the hazy distance, saw two women nod towards each other, before disappearing into a sea of skiers.
T-Bar Troubles
Gondolas, chair lifts, funicular railway and T-bars: there are so many ways to get up the side of a mountain here, and each one has its own peculiar set of rules and customs, like no orderly queueing, that it can be a very confusing business, leading to lots of mishaps. However, the award for being the standout clown of cable assisted ascendancy goes to one Year 8 boy, whose antics have already entered the folklore of Davos.
Calamity 1: He attempts the T-Bar. Unlike the Grand Old Duke of York, he couldn’t be bothered to get to the top. He stopped at halfway, you know ‘neither up nor down’. We say ‘stopped’. Actually, the T-Bar forcibly ejected him. We cannot say why, but rumour has it that he was wearing a Villa shirt under his coat and that is just too much for any respectable T-Bar to handle: he simply had to go!
Like a regularly beaten Villa keeper, he lay sprawled on the ground. But unlike the Villa keeper, who is usually tangled in his own net, the boy’s skis folded themselves under him, as if to hide from the embarrassment by association. Now, despite applying sun cream every day, this lad’s cheeks have been getting rosier by the day, but at this point they glowed like beacons and emitted enough heat to cause the Davos authorities to issue a weather warning for fear of a severe thaw and ensuing flood. Thousands of eyes lasered in on the bizarre image of a bright-face boy in the snow, trapped by his own skis. The poor boy could not control the heat pumps in his cheeks, which were soon billowing out tropical temperatures.
Enter the woolly-hatted superhero and all-round annoyingly athletic and handsome ski instructor. With one swoop of his muscular arm (he does triathlons, don’t you know – grrr – and he’s only 19!), the stricken boy was released from his perishing prison and his cheeks returned to their usual crimson hue.
Calamity 2: Being in a tangle with your own skis is one thing, but this boy is a caring, sharing kind of guy and couldn’t resist the opportunity to share the joys of having your legs being twisted into completely unnatural shapes. And what better place to share that experience than on the chairlift, where you have approximately zero seconds to launch yourself forward off the seats, unless you want to be carried off into the distant mountains.
Along comes a lovely lad from Year 9. He’s a year older than our T-Bar tyrant, but that doesn’t bother our tangling terror. Oblivious to the evil plans, our Year 9 happily agrees to accompany his younger friend on the chairlift – big mistake! About 10 metres from the launch point the evil genius subtlety shifts his skis, and the trap is set. The bar flips up and the boys shuffle forward, ready to push themselves off. The plotter can’t resist a little snigger at the prospect of his plan coming to fruition. Then, they go. Or don’t. Our innocent Year 9 is confused: why isn’t he moving? What’s happened to his legs? Panic ensues and with a Herculean effort, he puts the burners on (he’s a man of fire when he wants to be) and launches himself forward. The skis disentangle, but he is hopelessly off balance and plants himself into the barely adequate plastic fencing, before tumbling into a heap.
Is this the beginning of a one boy reign of terror on the Davos slopes? Stay tuned for updates.
1% is our Mantra
A few weeks ago, every year group in school was treated to an assembly by our very own Mr Motivator, Mr Ewing. His topic: try to do just 1% better than the day before. In motivational speak it’s the principle of ‘aggregate marginal gains’, but in plain English it’s about taking things a step at a time; avoiding impatience and being slow, steady and consistent. Well, lots of us needed that reminder on Wednesday. Let’s just say for quite a few of us it was a tough, character-building day, and we needed lots of reminders to focus on that 1%.
The great thing about being part of the Ridgewood family is that everyone looks after each other and this was so evident on the slopes of the Parsenn. Everywhere you looked, you could see why being part of this family is so special. Students encouraged, motivated and helped each other down the mountain, until finally we all met for lunch in the most beautiful scenery and celebrated everyone getting safely down together with a snowball fight.
For those of us who had found the morning tough, it was also a time to reflect. Do we give up or focus on that 1% for the next day? With Mr Ewing’s mantra still in our minds, it was obvious: focus on making that 1% improvement the next day. For some of us that meant taking what may seem like a bit of a step back to the less challenging areas, but we knew it was the right thing to do and rather than feeling down about it, we were excited about practising and building our confidence.
What a difference a day makes! On Thursday, some of us headed to a new practice area in Klosters, with our mother-hen instructor, Amanda. Within an hour, she had us slaloming down the slopes, improving our times run after run, and our confidence soared. Finally, for those who were ready, she took them down a blue run. The smiles on the faces of everyone on the train back to Davos told the story of a wonderful day. Thank you, Mr Ewing: your assembly inspired us to overcome any disappointment and frustration and focus on exactly what we needed to do to make progress - we are all about the 1% now!
Well, it seems like a good point to end this part of our story. It’s nearly the end of our adventure, but we have so much more to share with you, so Mr Duff will be tapping away on his laptop during the long journey home.
Bye for now and get those washing machines ready!
