Taking the train is definitely easier than flying. No baggage check-in for a start. Also, they don't seem to have smoke detectors in the bogs. Or if they do, then they don't give a fuck.

What I saw of Les Arcs seemed pretty OK. At least there was snow. No massive powder madness (unless you're inclined to walk - which I'm not). I swear that if you did trek a couple of hours up a ridge and head down, you would definitely encounter one of those snakes of ski-school kids turning in front of you. Bastards are everywhere.

Mrs. H. did a week's worth of boarding lessons but isn't convinced. Think she'll revert to skis next time. Oh well.

Other news: There's some sort of Book Week thing going on at Stepdaughter's school next week and they need to dress as a character from a book. Mrs. H. suggested putting a cage on her head so she can be Winston from 1984. I suggested using the guinea pigs as substitute rats. It could work.

On the train back, I read DJ Taylor's biography of Orwell. It's worth reading. Points out many of the contradictions in EAB's character. Not the secular saint that some would have us believe.