Saturday, April 5, 2014

51 Lillehammer

I've done some things in my time,


but leaping off a ski jump is never going to be one of them. I'd need to be a barking mad fruit cake to spray latex over my naked body, tie two waxed planks onto my feet, squat like I'm on a non existent Botswanan toilet seat and slip slide away down an artificial mountainside.

On this hill here, winter olympics helmeted fellahs and ladies hurtled themselves down the ramp and through the Scandanavian sky at over ninety kilometres an hour. They weren't up there for an hour, of course. But one bloke was up there long enough to land 145 metres away.

145 metres is further than my office is from the 7-Eleven.

I used to take about five minutes to walk to that 7-Eleven, pay for my Marlboros, and then get back. In the days when I smoked.

The men and women launching themselves off the Lillehammer ski ramp do the getting to the 7-Eleven distance in under 6 seconds. Nutters. The lot of them.

I'll give ski jumping a miss, thanks, and make do with the purple, green and orange tie I bought as an Olympic souvenir. A
 purple, green and orange colour work tie combination is as brave as I can manage.

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