Snow Bunnies and other atrocities

If one has to fall in love, it might as well be with a skier.

Apart from the wonderful possibilities for creating and bestowing knitted gifts, there are the ski trips.


As well as hours of car passenger knitting (2 TTWCs - there would have been a third but the dark and deep brown yarn in small lengths defeated me on our return journey), there is après ski time. I ski not and with my crappy ankle it’s probably not a sport I'll be taking up soon – maybe next year. I do, however, have a prodigous talent for apres ski. Always go with one’s strengths!

Although our trip last Sunday did not go completely to plan, I managed a walk in the snow around Smiggin Holes/Perisher Blue for an hour and then retreated to the pub for a few hours of knitting and people watching. I promise to be more adventurous, use the snow shoes next time and actually take some photos.


The first of Mum's "Whinger" socks was finished in the hotel and the second started. So BORED by it. Really, I need more of distraction when knitting these socks than people watching.

Some of our party returned at lunch time and joined me in the hotel for the afternoon. There was hot chocolate drinking, collective noun creating and a merry game of spot the hideous beanie.

Now I know about people in glass houses etc. but we just couldn't help it. I must have missed the memo about leaving good taste at the entrance to the National Park!

Among the contenders for most revolting head wear were the baby poo yellow felted gnome hat (which beautifully coordinated with the Buchanan tartan scarf sported by the hat wearer’s partner and which I strongly suspect to be a set) and the acrylic fake Mohawk (no pics, sorry, but I’m so going to next time!). The winner, despite the stiff competition, was the result of an unholy union between Big Bird, a toilet mat and spray-on tan. Seriously, this thing was safety orange and that particular type of squeaky “plush” nylon that appeared in bathrooms in the 1970s. It was a helmet shape and worn by someone who may have been a snow bunny years ago and who had spent far too long in the snow without sunscreen.

And the collective noun? Well what would you call a group of snow bunnies? We thought, perhaps, a Hilton, but eventually agreed on a flurry of snow bunnies.


The Old Flame managed to Kinnear the only other knitter in the place. She was sitting behind us and we exchanged knitterly pleasantries to the amusement of some of my party. She was knitting a scarf of burgundy coloured boucle yarn on sparkly plastic needles. It probably wasn’t the first Smiggins SnB, but it was the only one that day.