My last holiday was a long weekend away from the city and in proper snow. I say “proper” snow, because it was really the first time I’d ever been in “proper” snow. Maybe it was the light, or maybe it was the company – but the few other trips I had to “the snow” had left pale grey memories and bad tastes in my mouth. Mostly I remember snow being dirty and slushy – this new experience with snow left crisp, white, cold, deliberate snow in my memory.

I loved it!

We drove the 5 hour drive from Melbourne to Mt Hotham after work on a Thursday night. Most of the journey was long, the last bit up the mountain was treacherous.  The road was dark and winding, with slick ice patches that made the going slow at best. But we got to our warm hotel in the end thanks to our intrepid driver – and to celebrate, we hunkered down in front of the fire with good cheer and a bottle of vodka, and dug in for the night.

There’s nothing quite like starting a holiday with a massive hangover. Fortunately, when I awoke the next morning, I was still intoxicated so I delayed my hangover until later in the afternoon, to coincide with ill fitting boots and a short temper. But it all turned out in the end, and the people who took my skiing lessons just laughed when I requested they leave me to “die in the snow”.

Great friends, good food, warm feet make for a wonderful weekend away and by the time we were driving home on Sunday afternoon, we were all exhausted and happy that we’d managed to get away from our normal routines.

The End.

I want to fly around the town

to where it’s bright and sunny.

I know you’ll look up as I fly past

and think it’s really funny!

The vacuum transporter system made its customary whoosh sound as the ThermaFlask™ arrived.

She lifted the brushed metal container from the receiving cradle, its cool touch protecting her hands and insulating the hot liquid it contained. She held it to her body as she moved slowly towards the food unpackaging counter. Placing it carefully on the opaque countertop, she first looked over her left shoulder, then her right, checking she truly was alone.

Her arthritic hand slid slowly down her robe, her ancient fingers finding the small soft bag of tea deep in her pocket. She looked behind again as she removed the tea bag from her pocket. She knew the penalties for having and consuming non-registered food – even though she would argue tea was not a food – she also knew the authorities wouldn’t tolerate that particular debate.

They sent you food; you ate it. That was the rule.  They controlled your health, your weight, your diet. Old timers like her could remember a time when people had a choice about what they ate, when they ate, where their food came from. But old timers like her were a dying breed – literally. The sheep of the present world let the authorities regulate even their basic human needs.

She reached for a beverage container, placing it onto the countertop and carefully placing the gauze tea bag inside. Unfastening the ThermaFlask™ she gently poured the steaming liquid into the cup. She recalled her Grandfather at that moment, all the times they had shared a cup of tea and conversation when she was much younger. He had often said that no other people in history would see the changes he had seen through the 20th Century. The Great Depression, two world wars,  he’d seen the development of the car, of the aeroplane, of spaceflight. He would have called anyone crazy if they’d suggested potable water would be so rare, so expensive one day that it would have to be requested, paid for and delivered by the cup. She had saved credits for 2 years to afford 250ml of boiling water. She was pleased that her Grandfather lived in his century, and not hers.

The hot water began to discolour as it touched the bag and then the tea. She watched the colour claiming the water, releasing its tannins and aroma, she inhaled slowly, unlocking memories from gentler times. She would savour this, her last cup of tea. There weren’t enough years left in her life to save for another.