Often, when you are most looking forward to doing something a poisoned fruit falls down and hits you on the head.
Like when Adam and Eve found all that delicious food but couldn't eat it, I had a similarly exciting prospect but a sudden hurdle appeared.
Although my obstacle was less religious I fully intended to overcome it.
The fruit in my case was a trip to Edinburgh, and the obstacle,
man-flu.
In one morning I was sweatier than spending 3 days on a Dubai beach and had an oversized frog in my throat on pro plus - jumping up and down like a record breaking pole vaulter.
There was no way, however, I was going to let this illness prohibit the fun of my first trip to Scotland to attend
BUDS, the university dry ski slope championships.
We had a small, but poor (not pants but little money) ski team and we needed all the morale we could get: I was intending on being a pivotal part of the enthusiasm involved.
As every student will tell you, when the signs of being ill arrive, buy anything with the word
orange in it.
I bought a pack of oranges so big that every time I opened my cupboard they fell on my face - forget energy drinks, this kept me on the ball.
I also purchased orange juice and began drinking it out of shot glasses.
As well as this, there's the key question when ill: "Should I be drinking alcohol?"
"Just drink vodka and orange juice," I have been told.
Literally, it's a vitamin C hell hole.
I am now an orange.
Anyway, more stocked up than my local grocer, and more high on Lemsip than Amy Winehouse, I jet setted off to Edinburgh via a cheap airline with my good mate David Row - he became my guide, he's been before.
Other occupants on this trip involved my housemate Rupert and 5 others who had gone by a random mixture of train and car. You could call us gypsies.
There were concerns, I should admit, that Rupert's rather old Peugeot 306 wouldn't make the 8 hour journey, but in-fact he later experienced more of a man-made problem- more on that later.
Anyway after a rather bumpy landing me and Dave strolled to the taxi rank and requested the caravan park where we were to stay.
I hadn't actually known we were to be partaking in caravan club until this point, but had been quite the Eurocamper on family holidays so was prepared for any eventuality.
Me and Dave jumped in a taxi, I, completely confused about the driver's dialect, but Dave's cousin lived in Scotland so he volunteered to be my translator.
As we arrived at the caravan site it became apparent we would be staying in the five star section of these movable hotels: the mobile home.
How we had managed this I am still unsure. I think Rupert has been building up his Caravan Club points.
But as we checked in there were clearly people missing from what I will call our 'crew'.
Unfortunately, the scheduled group meet had been hit by it's own hurdle, and Rupert's car appeared to be no Colin Jackson.
"Where's Rupert and Jenna (competing skier)?" I asked inquisitively, worried.
Ben, a fellow traveling member of our crew:
"Well, Rupert's car broke down in the middle of no where."
Concerning news.
In-fact the truth had been minorly twisted here, what had actually occurred was that my good housemate Rupert had been seeing the sites of Edinburgh whilst driving around on the red light for a whole HOUR and a half.
Rupert's petrol had been, and gone.
After a combination of bad map reading and a sat-nav malfunction they became a group of vulnerable English in Scotland's own Wolf Creek.
Like the film, a random man gave them a lift, but to a petrol station and he did not kill them.
The event
I will bullet-point our time at the ski slope with a number of significant incidents, little of which, I'm happy to say, involve my self.
I was pretty much Lethal Weapon in terms of not getting hurt, mainly.
One) Ben, one of our snowboarders, was riding the rails.
He experienced some success, but there was also a broken finger and a thumb.
Two) Another of our competitors wore a fat suite. We later found her at the bottom of the
piste - before we knew it we were taking her to the medical room. I will not name her due to health and safety form fears. Although she is not in a wheelchair.
Three) Jenna missed her skiing slot after 'the breakdown', the car that is, she's not in a mental asylum. She then had to pretend to be a boy and race in their category, partly successfully, partly not.
Clearly it was an overwhelming competitive success.
I often divert people to this video, where everyone looks awesome - apart from the rather foreboding girl on crutches at the beginning:
The last minute episode
Without knowing it, I was to partake in my own competition.
There I was at the top, happily watching the last of the boarders on the big jump, when I saw lost friends walking up the edge of the dry ski slope - it was Rupert and co.
At this point as I tried to attract their attention by waving, a dramatic moment took place. But it was no epiphany.
It had been raining all day, and alas, I had stepped forward on to a piece of particularly slippery material to the side of the slope.
On my back, olympic styley, I shot past a friend quicker than
Usain Bolt on a sledge.
Passers-by were probably surprised that there was a new event at this years BUDS.
Others may have thought I had done this for a laugh.
I was doing neither.
The Next Day
I went to the campsite toilets and then strolled casually back to the mobile home- very normal.
Our temporary accommodation was not particularly tidy - a nuclear bomb had hit it in the night. But between my trip to the toilets and walking back a miraculous clean up had taken place.
The kitchen had also moved to the lounge. Strange.
I also had new mobile home roommate - 20 years older and five feet taller than Dave.
This, in-fact was not my mobile home. It was the last main episode of the trip.
Now back in my room, I'm still ill, with an orange segment in my mouth.
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