As the cloud burned off Paul was left with a spectacular, if typical, Alpine vista before him. Even though he would not be taking to the slopes, due to work commitments, there was an undefinable joy in his heart to know that somehow he was actually living the dream that had begun two years before.
It had all started on a cold February evening in Stourbridge in a pub called The Bag of Spanners. As he cast his mind back he remembered that it was a conversation with Daryl about how much he was missing the Alps, despite having only returned three days before, when Daryl made one of his characteristic observations;
“Why the fuck are you not making plans to go and live there you plonker?”
That had really been all of the spur that he needed, and now he was indeed there, and there was no doubt that it had been the right decision. Daryl had, of course, been the most suprised of all. When Paul told him that he had found a job in Les Menuires, Daryl’s entirely appropriate response had been:
“I didn’t mean it yer twat!”