Hmmm. My original brief for this piece was “A season from an older person’s perspective”. I knocked a few ideas around, none of which really worked. I finally came to the conclusion that from my point of view at least, my season was little different from anyone else’s.
Sure I had my doubts. I was 45 and on the verge of my first ever season last year. It was November and I stood in a very nice chalet in Meribel, waiting to meet my work colleagues. I’d driven down early whilst most people flew out. “Fuck! They’re all going to be 12” I thought. But they weren’t. My cohorts were just people. They had no real age to them at all. We drank, we laughed, we cocked around and we drank some more.
That’s pretty much how my season ran its course. Age had no real bearing on my life in the Alps. Neither work nor socialising. Maybe I took a while longer to get the shopping up the stairs at Elephant Blanc than a teenager on a promise (there are shit loads of steps in that cocking chalet!). It’s also possible that I sometimes boogied like your Dad. Sorry about that. I’ve always had pretty much the same dance skills as a quadriplegic on horseback.
One thing though…..Before last season I was always a bit of a news freak. I read one of the broadsheets every day, watched BBC News when parked up in the car, discussed the day’s events with the doormen at The Graucho – all that sort of shit. But in the Alps I had no interest in the outside world. The FT100, PM’s questions, Paris Hilton’s piss flaps (Again! When will that vacuous air head realise her clunge will only be newsworthy if scientist discover a lost Amazonian tribe living in her fucking lady garden.) none of it mattered in the bubble we call the 3 Valleys. Parties, Jager, pizza, coffee and a couple of hours sleep. They were my daily interests. My news became things like “Nigel’s fucked his Caravelle again!” My need for wifi was only ever to catch up on FB or check out snowforecast. What a breath of fresh air that is. The realisation that fuck all matters. Prince William is patron of a new charity you say? I couldn’t give a toss if he was felching goats in his brother’s Nazi uniform.
I met some truly lovely people. Worked with real friends that I’d happily go for a beer with. Maybe that’s what I take most from my season, friends. God I just made myself spew but it’s true.
Age? Fuck age. We all talk the same shit after a gut full of Jager bombs.
Maybe the question should go to my colleagues. Ask them if they thought my age affected my season. I think not….
Jeremy Slade. Age? 45. Fucks given? Nil