Monday, 23 January 2017


Since my parents got cable some 15 or 20 years ago, they started watching Eurosport. Apparently, arguing about tennis and football has become almost the only reasonable communication between them but I stopped caring about their somewhat dysfunctional relationship years ago. But, that's besides the point although family matters are a continuous source of unbelievable stories.
I don't really like winter. It's best experienced someplace like Innsbruck, from a nice warm café of the Central-European style, watching the snowy peaks from a safe distance while slurping coffee and waiting for spring. But, there are winter sports. Those performed by others, obviously. (Yes, I love snowboarding. Yes, I'm pretty bad. Nope, haven't been anywhere for a few years because I lived in fucking mountains and I hated 9 of every 10 seconds there, the 10 % was botanizing and I may be exaggerating, even.)

The downhill in Kitzbühel has over the years become one of the most important family events, and probably the most funny one because during Christmas, we tend to argue a lot over something like mayonnaise or who looked funny at whom, and during the summer reunion, there are a few annoying relatives I can live without. Watching downhill skiing is a shared activity enjoyed without any drama.
For those who do not know or care, the Streif is said to be one of the most difficult pistes. And that's the point. We sit, watch and scream things like Now he is dead! No, he's dead now! Nope, he's still moving but they'll need to cut him out from the safety netting! @#$%^!!! 149 kph on this!!! plus quite some less articulate things.
Then the winners and survivors are happy and the watchers have had an adrenaline rush that lasts for quite a few days. And now back to the scheduled boring stuff. Not the Australian Open, just some clerical stuff.

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