Newsletters

Does this email look weird(er than normal) to you? It's also available to view at
www.courchevelenquirer.com/newsletter/06032010.html

06/03/2010
Issue 12

Bec the builder tries to fix Marcus Parrot

A note from the editor

As you can see alot of fun was had at the Toy R Us night in the bubble on Wednesday. The Le Ski girls dressed as Barbies and did a stint on the bar, Jonny and Drew went as (transforming) Transformers. Up in 1850 despite sub zero temperatures and a little snow the usual suspects got their shorts and bikinis on for the beach party in Kalico. This week the euro X-games are in Tignes. The team for the boss des bosses is growing (come and support them).

The editor

I slept with her but we didn’t have sex.
Over the years I’ve heard this phrase almost as many times as I’ve had hot dinners and when you think about it’s quite a strange remark. So thanks to some female input we will look at this from the perspective of the two parties.
From a guys point of view I don’t think it’s something you should brag about. I mean you find someone in Kalico have a few drinks have a bit of a dance maybe have a bit of a snog and then as throwing out time arrives you turn and say “Do you want to come back to mine for a coffee and by coffee I MEAN coffee and not sex?”
Before I continue I would like to say I have never personally used the title statement so I’m using alot of supposition and hearsay. I guess because I write the enquirer, which is the world greatest abstinence aid, I’m not pushing girls away left, right and center. So when I get the chance I will usually grab it with both hands. I mean it’s rather like Bill Clinton saying he smoked dope, but didn’t inhale. What’s the point?
So you take a girl (or boy) home, settle down on the sofa, have a post coffee cuddle/snog and then suggest you continue into the bedroom. Now at that point you are either going to have sex – or not – there is no maybe. Is any party really going to say “Lets go to the bedroom but to be honest I don’t really fancy you enough to give you one and I can’t really be bothered to walk back to my apartment” without hurting the others feelings.
Of course there is alway an exception to the rule and alcohol be thy name. Inbibe enough of it (and I’m talking about Jimbo’s birthday levels of booze) and I suppose certain things won’t rise to the occasion. (again something I’ve never had happen). Although by the sunrise the effects should have worn off and I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like a bit of wholesome morning fucking.

The female perspective would be that the 'suggestion' of going back to someone's apartment for coffee, a DVD and a cuddle is basically about denial. You're definitely up for a shag. But there are obstacles: a) perhaps you don't really fancy the bloke that much but it's got to the point in the season where sex is necessary if not essential b) you've recently shagged one of his mates but decided you prefer him. Suggesting a rampant sex session would be far too forward - you've got a reputation to think about. Instead you suggest dvds, coffee and cuddles and there's the unspoken implicit message that, yes, he's gonna get lucky.
I suppose there's the possibility that you both head back with the full intention of having a raunchy romp but are so knackered out and jaded from skiing and cleaning chalets that you can't muster the energy Either that or you are genuinely in need of a hug. Which is fair enough.
So I would say if anyone says 'I slept with him/her but didn't have sex' they are a liar. Because you can use that excuse just as long as penetration didn't occur right? So you could have done all sorts of dirty things to each other but you didn't 'officially' sleep together.
The only other situation I can imagine this happening is in the unpleasant event of pulling some chap in the dark, fuzzy, drunken safety of Kalicos and then getting him home, where you mysteriously and suddenly sober up - he comes into focus and you realise he is a total minger. You then announce you 'just want to cuddle' and have the infinate pleasure of sleeping in his arms with his erection sticking in your back for the entire night, before you make a swift run for it in the morning!

Alpine Excess t-shirts

After running out of brand names that begin with C and sharing roughly the same length as Courchevel I have transmogrified a certain credit card logo. These can now be purchased directly from the online store on the web site and would make an ideal present.

Please note item shipped from France will take 3-5 days to arrive in UK. (if the uk post office is not on strike)

The evils of the studio appartment
by Belle de Neige
This year I went from living in my own 3 bedroom home, avec super kingsize bed, tempur mattress, fluffy carpets and dressing room, huge marble and tile bathroom, and a seperate cupboard specifically for my handbags, to living in what is essentially a black hole of doom hovel with two other girls.
The mentality of sharing this space has been much less difficult to deal with than I expected. Specifically because I had top roomies who were relatively aggro free human beings. Also, deep down I am actually a bit of a grubby urchin at heart, despite my best friend's protestations at Glastonbury last year that I have a dirt-repelling superpower. No, it's not the mentality of sharing that's the problem.
Because we spent 90% of our time cleaning other people's shit from toilet pans, dishes and floors, said hovel was never cleaned. And it started out fustily filthy anyway. I mean, like, you have to dust off and wipe your feet before getting into bed if you want to avoid crumbs of unidentified mildewed goip all over your sheets. There was crap everywhere. Ski equipment, knickers hanging off curtain rails to dry, crispy ski socks which have been reused far far too many times sitting on radiators, Snickers wrappers, condoms.
Well yes, particularly condoms. And this is the real issue. There's nowhere private to shag.
Not that this presented much of an obstacle for one of my room mates in the second month of the season. One night I awoke, bleary eyed from my afternoon and evening of heavy drinking, at about 4am and lay there for a few minutes wondering idly why I had been untimely ripped from the womb of sleep. Before it all came into disturbing focus. Those scraping noises, that squeak-squeak, squeak-squeak, the heavy breathing. The fact my bed is being shunted rhythmically by the dresser, because something else in rhythmically shunting the dresser.
Oh. Right. Great. Yeah. My room mate is having the back bashed out of her with all of us in the room. Tops. I can't move or even cough as disturbing them would make this even more excruciating. I can't even reach for my ipod to block out the slapping noises. The fucker's in my coat. And I really need a pee.
I believe we've all been there. Right? And those in glass houses can't throw stones, so I shall finish by admitting that I too did my fair share of none-too-subtle covert shagging during my time in the hovel. And it was damn good fun.