Emergency underpants

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I blame the non-declutching ski lift. They swoosh round and scoop you up at speed, planting your backside on the seat with a thud. Or, in my case, a rip.

It wasn't until I set off down the piste, feeling a little draughty around the houses, that Noel pointed out I'd split my pants. What to do? We'd forked out $Stupid for lift passes so we weren't about to abandon the day because of the risk of a frostbitten bottom. Emergency measures were needed…….

This was one of the few cases where US service let us down. No-one had Duck tape, or needle and cotton, so it was down to Noel's resourcefulness – and big underpants. He gallantly offered to go commando (he was well covered in the necessary regions) and let me wear his underpants over the offending split.

Result! All I had to do was avoid falling, which I did, though Noel made up for it. And, damn it, we had to go buy a new pair, salopettes, that is, not underpants. As Noel pointed out, my derriere is so petite there was no stretch… Yea, right!

Today's lovely thing
100in of snow in the past ten days – more tongiht!

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