“Remind me again Den, just why are we stood here at stupid o’clock in the morning in the middle of February?”
Dennis let go an impressive yawn before mustering a reply, “money?”
I wrapped my arms around myself a bit tighter which did little to prevent a teeth chattering shiver caused by the icy wind blowing up my skirt.
“Wish I’d worn trousers,” I mumbled into my scarf.
“You lost the bet,” Den pointed out.
“Don’t remind me,” Jules and her scheming, I’ll get my revenge.
“Ot oh, looks like they’re coming,” my colleague noted as the sound of excited teenagers announced our cargo’s imminent arrival at the bus.

But maybe we should start at the beginning.

Three months earlier.
“Chris, you got a minute?”
I was just going for my lunch but I could hardly say no to the boss could I?
“Er sure Bill, what’s up?”
“Take a pew, how’re the private bookings going?”
I took the offered seat before replying.
“Steady I guess you’d call it but words getting round, there’re a few Legion trips in the pipeline, steady stuff.”
Bill nodded, “I was talking to Rich Barmby yesterday.”
“From Vee Bee’s?”
“The same, they’ve just ordered a pair of T916’s.”
“Woo, serious money,” I noted, “they come into some money?”
“In a way, they’ve picked up a load of BET work; the new motors’ll pay for themselves in twelve months.”
“Good on them, I know he was thinking of selling up last year.”
“I’ve spoken to Russ and he’s in agreement, we’re gonna start bidding for a slice of the BET work.”

“You’re the boss.”
“You’re the one whose desk it’s falling on.”
Just what I need – not!
“Okay.”
“I’ll be upfront Chris, tour bookings are down, we’ve not been filling the day excursions and nice as your private hires are, we need to get more work or we’ll have to downsize.”
“That bad?”
“Wish it wasn’t so but yep, that bad.”
“Bummer.”
“I’ve got a woman from BET coming to see us Tuesday morning so if you could manage your uniform?”
“Yes boss,” I agreed.

“Educational tours? We’ll be doing National Express next,” Jules moaned.
“It’s hardly the end of the world,” I noted before taking a pull on my pint.
“No tips, coach full of sweet wrappers and crumbs and some grotty hotel in the back of beyond.”
“It’s work,” I pointed out.
“I guess,” she allowed, “but not as we know it.”
I couldn’t help but agree with that sentiment.

Janice Brown was the wrong side of forty, wore too much makeup and was British Educational Tours ‘provider liaison manager’, in other words she has to make sure there is adequate transport for BET’s programme of trips. She was pleasant enough but by the end of the visit Bill and I were under no illusions as to our place in the hierarchy of the operation. Make no mistake about it; we need them more than they need us.
“So?” Bill offered.
“Looks like a lot of work without any guaranteed returns.”
“I don’t think we can pass it up Chris.”
“I hear you, just saying.”
“I’ll liaise with Russ and get you an availability diary sorted out in the meantime get yourself up to speed on the bidding process, sooner we start more chance of success.”
“Sure.”

So okay it’s not rocket science and the BET web site is dumbed down enough to allow even travel company executives to use it! In essence you are entering a lottery where the low bid will win but bids are sealed and whilst you bid for a specific period of vehicle supply actual destinations and itinery are only released to winners of the work. The juggle for the bidders is working out what to bid; Rich Barmby suggested a formula to Bill, our lowest price plus a percentage, if the work doesn’t come in drop the percentage. Nothing gained as they say.
It was just before Christmas that we got our first BET job, two buses doing a ski trip to the French Alps. When I saw the schedule I had to agree with Jules summation, it’s like running a cattle truck shuttle. No overnight stops just driving through the night, minimal breaks double manned but for the drivers on this occasion it was then four days paid killing time in the resort and our two coaches were there with fifteen others on BET trips!
After that the work started to trickle in regular enough to keep three crews in regular employment although Den and myself escaped due to firstly Den’s holiday to Florida and our assignment to a couple of out of season tours to Spain and the German Karnevals. But of course sooner or later that would change and me hitting the wrong key when I made a bid on New Year’s Eve would have all sorts of consequences down the line.

‘Sugar!’ I allowed before checking the BET email again, no denying it, I’d bid three buses and we’d won all three, great – except we only had two vehicles free for the work. Janice had been quite emphatic; failure to supply a vehicle would bar us from bidding for six weeks which would then of course have knock on effects.
I knocked on the door, “can I have a word Bill?”
“BET?”
“Er yeah,” I agreed.
“Where are they off to this time?”
“Two buses to Les Gets and one to Livigno.”
“Not heard of that before.”
“Apparently it’s Italy, not far from St Moritz.”
“Why do I sense there’s a but?”
“I should’ve checked before I put the bid in.”

“Checked what?”
“Terry and Paul are off that week, I checked the rota, we don’t have anyone else to cover.”
“Bugger!”
“I’m sorry Bill, I’ve mucked up big style, I’ll leave if you want me to.”
“And just who else do you think I can get on your wages, don’t be so daft. Get me the diary; let’s see if we can sort something out before we panic.”

Half an hour later Bill sat back and took a swig of cold tea.
“So me and Sandra will do the Hen trip to Glasgow and you and Den fill in for Terry and Paul.”
“I’d best break the news to him; he was looking forward to Glasgow.”
“I’m sure once you explain things he’ll come round.”

“So let me get this right, Bill and his missus are taking the Hen party to Glasgow.”
“Uh huh,” I agreed plonking a pint in front of Den.
“And instead of a cushy couple of nights in the Holiday Inn we get to race halfway across Europe to hole up in a ski hostel in the middle of nowhere.”
“Er yeah, that’s about the sum of it.”
“Cheers bud.”
“You think I’m happy about it?”
“Hmm,” he mumbled.

“Hi Chris, Janice from BET.”
“Oh hi Janice, what can I do for you?”
“We’ve got a little bit of an issue with a job you’re doing.”
“Oh? Which one? What’s the problem?”
“Well not a problem as such, more of a request from the school, it’s the Livigno job?”
“Hang on, let me just get the paperwork, hang on, did you say Livigno?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be doing that myself.”
“Straight to the horse then.”
“So what’s the issue then?”
“The school’s concerned about having male drivers.”
“Everyone here’s CRB checked.”
“That’s not the issue, it’s a girl’s school, they’d prefer to have women drivers, they’ve had issues with male drivers in the past.”
“It never just rains does it?”
“Sorry Chris, look Global won’t be penalised if you can’t manage it, but it would be appreciated if you can do the job.”
“When do you need to know?”
“Sooner the better but this Friday lunch at the latest.”
“Leave it with me Janice I’ll see what we can do.”

I put the phone down, what a cock up. Where the hell do I conjure up two female drivers when we don’t have one on the books? Not strictly true, Sandra has her licence but she’s five months pregnant and I’m not gonna suggest that Bill’s wife drives to Italy in ten days! Nope, it looks like this is the final straw on this episode; I’ll ring Janice in the morning.

“They want what?” Julie spluttered.
“You heard, they don’t want male drivers.”
“I wonder who they are protecting?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well fifty hormonal teenage girls, two men, I’d say it was the drivers in danger not the girls.”
The coin dropped.
“I see, not that it’s any help, we still don’t have any women drivers.”
Jules gave me a funny look, “you sure?”
“Course I’m sure.”

“You could do it.”
“Talk rot.”
“You’ve got your licence, Nena could make another appearance.”
“You have got to be kidding.”
“You’ve done it before,” my girlfriend pointed out.
“Doesn’t mean I want to repeat the process and what about Den?”
“Just tell them that you’re married, might keep the little minxes off.”
“They’d see straight through me, no it’s a stupid idea.”
“I bet they’d go for it.”
“I don’t have the wig anymore.”
“Who needs a wig?”

“Janice? Hi it’s Chris from Global?”
“Oh hi Chris, Livigno I guess?”
“Yeah, we’re struggling to meet the requirements although I might have a half solution.”
“I’ve not had much success either,” Janice offered, “so what have you got?
“Well one of our drivers, his girlfriend has a licence and she’d be prepared to go with him.”
“Best offer I’ve had!” Janice smiled down the phone, “let me talk to the school and run it past them, I’ll call you back a bit later.”

Against my better judgement it looks like Nena will be making a reprise appearance, I suppose I’ll have to break his new relationship to Den too! As for Jules, well let’s just say she knows how to press my buttons.

©Maddy Bell 22.03.15

“Of all the cuckoo plans this has got to top them all,” Den spluttered.
“Jules wanted us to be married,” I offered in conciliation.
“That girl has a warped mind.”
“Tell me about it,” I agreed.
“What did Bill have to say about this harebrained scheme?”
“Well I’m talking to you about it.”
   
The following week was pretty ordinary, Den did a couple of one-man jobs, I did a private hire with him for some tourist board junket on Wednesday. Thursday was paperwork day then Friday we both had off so we’d have the driving hours for the Livigno trip.
“I’ll pick you up at ten,” Den advised.
“Okay, see you tomorrow.”
   
Friday was nothing like a day of rest for me though, oh sure I wasn’t at the office or driving, no I was victim to my girlfriends ministrations to turn me once more into Nena. I thought we’d just buy a new wig, shave my legs and put on a bit of slap but no, to convince a busload of teenage girls that I’m female I apparently have to go much further. I won’t go into detail but by lunchtime I was thoroughly plucked, painted and bleached.

“Come on, I’ve booked you in with Donna to get your nails done.”
“Do I have to? I can get them pretty tidy.”
“Yes you do, no boyfriend of mine is going out with those ratty nails.”
“She’ll recognise me,” I tried as a last get out.
“No she won’t, I told her you’re a friend from work.”
“Hmmph!”
“I‘ll bet you she won’t.”
I had to push didn’t I?
“So what do I win when she outs me?”
“Geez, Chris, she won’t. Tell you what, if I’m right you wear full uniform tonight, if she spots it’s you, you get to choose what you wear.”
As I’m gonna win it’s a no brainer, “Deal!”
   
“Very smart,” Julie grinned as I tried to make my skirt a bit longer, “stop tugging at it.”
“It’s freezing out there.”
“Well you’ll hardly be stood out in it will you?”
There was no way she’d let me squirm out of this. Donna hadn’t even blinked when ‘Nena’ was introduced; I was just another client too busy to do her own nails. Of course my usual ratty nails had efficiently been transformed into longer neatly painted talons in a dark red that would, I was assured, go with anything. Certainly no one’ll confuse me for a bloke dressed like this, let’s hope that remains the case.
She did let me get my head down for a few hours when we got back from the nail bar but I was already looking forward to our arrival in Italy so I can get a good sleep. At five to ten Den tooted to announce his presence, no backing out now, time to man up (huh!) and get the job done.
   
The little darlings hove into view variously lugging and dragging an assortment of cases and bags.
“Take your bags over to Dennis then you can get on board.” I instructed.
The bus was half full before the adult contingent arrived, none of whom looked particularly pleased to be looking after four dozen teenagers at one thirty in the morning. I guessed the one with the clipboard was in charge so I went across to introduce myself.
“Er hello, I’m Nena, that’s Dennis loading the cases.”
“Mrs Frazer, what time are we leaving?”
She seemed a bit short; maybe it was the time of night.
“As soon as all the bags are on, we’re booked on the seven forty ferry so we’ll drive straight through to Dover.”
Rather than reply to me she instead chivvied the last few teens waiting to board our transport. “Stop dilly dallying Sarah, Cindy Jones lose that gum now!”
They were soon all on board; I waited for Den to put the last couple of bags in the hold.
“The one in charge is a bundle of fun,” I quietly mentioned.
“None of them look very happy,” Den noted.
   
Den was taking the first driving stint so I climbed up behind him and took the mic.
“Good morning everyone.”
Of course that got no response. Perhaps sensing that we wouldn’t be going anywhere without me having my say, Mrs Fraser, who’d taken station on the front seat behind my perch, motioned for me to give her the microphone.
“St Martins, we will have quiet.” It took a minute but things did quiet down, “Before we set off Norma has a few instructions for you.” She handed me back the mic.
“Thank you, Mrs Fraser. Firstly I’m Nena and the chap driving is Dennis, we’ll be your drivers for the week. We’ll be setting off in a moment but I have to go through some safety announcements.” I went through my spiel and I thankfully took my seat as Den manoeuvred us out of the school grounds.
   
From the depot to Dover it’s a fairly easy five-hour drive however we weren’t starting from the depot. Not anywhere close in fact, one issue with the BET work is that the pickups could be almost anywhere in the UK, we’ve had pick ups in Bristol, Newcastle and Norfolk in recent weeks. St Martins School is in Scarborough which adds a good hour to the trip, we’ll be on the rivet to catch our boat although we should have a fairly traffic free run.

By the time we’d reached the Malton by-pass the hubbub behind us had all but ended as teens and teachers found sleep to be preferable in the darkened interior of the bus. Having about three hours until I take over from Den I kicked off my shoes and made myself comfortable to catch forty winks myself.
   
I awoke with a jolt, bleary eyes revealing the blazing lights of a service area, damn, my turn to drive.
“What time?”
“Nearly five,” Den advised as he swapped the tacho over.
“Should do it then,” I noted slipping my footwear back on.
We swapped seats and in just under five minutes we were under way once more. It might still be early but the M25 was *quite busy but not enough to cause any delay even at the Thames crossing. It’s pretty much a straight hour down to Dover once you join the M2 and with no hold-ups I pulled into the port at five past seven. Anyone who has used this route will know that it’s not as simple as just checking in, no there’s passport control and potentially customs too before you get dockside.

By the time I stopped at the French passport control most of the coach was awake and luckily there wasn’t a queue so the official directed the passengers inside. It took almost fifteen minutes to get them all through, if we get called to customs we’ll definitely miss our boat. Luck was with us and after a trip around the racetrack to check in I pulled up at the control, Den diving off to do the deed.
“We make it?” I enquired.
“One sixty and don’t hang about,” he instructed as he clambered back on, ”they’re already loading.”
There is a speed limit but I ignored that as I headed to our loading lane where we were waved straight to the ramp, the doors were closing even as I put on the handbrake.
   
“That was a bit tight,” I allowed as Den locked the bus up.
“No kidding,” he agreed.
The Pride of Burgundy was already edging out of the berth by the time we reached the passenger decks. We weren’t the only coach on board; in fact the boat was near capacity with fifteen busloads of mostly BET trips causing every available seat and plenty of the floor to be occupied by teenagers. Thank heaven for the driver’s facilities!
“Breakfast?” Den asked.
“Yeah, get an extra round of toast, I’ll find a table.”
I looked around the canteen, it’s not that big and being last on board – well all the tables were occupied.
“Nena!”
Hmm, where to sit?
“Nena, over here!”
My brain finally engaged, Nena, that’s me. I scanned the table to see who was calling finally spotting a waving arm off in a corner. Of course I recognised the face, one I knew as both Chris and Nena, Maureen and where Maureen is George will be close by. Just what I need but they have seats, I smiled and headed over.
   
Of course they know Nena as being German so I had to move my brain into phoney accent mode.
“Hello stranger,” Maureen grinned.
“Morgen, how are you?”
The last time I saw the pair; well George in fact was when Maureen was taken ill in Berlin. That became quite an adventure to say the least!
“Not too bad.”
“Light duties, Nena,” George put in, “you with Dennis?”
“Ja, he fetches food, we have school ski trip.”
“Lucky you,” Maureen offered, “sit, it’s like a cattle pen in here this morning.”
“Danke, so you are still with the tour company?”
“Yeah, hi Den, when Wally’s were taken over we stayed on doing the Grand Tourer stuff.”
Dennis unloaded our food and I set too buttering toast before it went cold.
“So how come you’re with Dennis, Nena?”
Den replied before I could, “Chris works in the office a lot now so we conned Nena into doing a few trips.”
I gave a shrug, “A girl needs to eat, ja?”
“So where are you off to?” Den enquired.
“Engadin Winter Wonderland, five days in Davos,” George supplied. “You?”
“Livigno.”
“Oh we know Livigno don’t we, George?”
“Nice little place, tunnel to get in and out this time of year.”
“You’ll be able to stock up on duty free, Nena.”
“And beer, Den,” George added, “it’s some sort of tax haven like Andorra.”
   
We spent the next hour exchanging travellers tales, the French coast was slipping past when we left the canteen.
“Safe trip!”
“And you,” I replied.
We separated, they were parked at the pointy end us at the blunt bit, they’d be on the motorway before we get on shore. There’s usually at least one passenger goes awol when it’s time to depart but the St Martins party arrived together in short order so we were ready to move off when our turn came. I relinquished driving duties, Den’s taking us across France, we’ll swap at the lunch stop for me to take it the rest of the way.
#
Our passengers were now fully awake so any hope of getting some sleep was gone, I pulled the last Pratchett book out of my bag and settled down for the long boring ride across northern France. It was a grey day, we had a spot of rain once or twice but the traffic was light and we passed George and Maureen in the services shortly before Strasbourg.
   
Our own stop wasn’t too much further on at the actual Strasbourg services. For driving hours it had to be forty-five minutes so we followed our passengers into the restaurant. A busload of females quickly clogged up the ladies toilets, we headed for the food instead.

Two coffee’s and a bowl of Beef Stroganoff and I was ready, well almost, to start my stint behind the wheel. The toilets were still under assault by our passengers so I headed out to the bus to use our mobile facility. Thankfully it had remained under the radar of most of our passengers – I reckon they were too tired to take in what I was saying at one thirty this morning!

On these BET trips our duties really only cover driving, the teachers are responsible for getting their charges where they need to be. Mrs Fraser and her cohorts had so far done a good job but possibly due to the toilet fascination we were nearly ten minutes late returning to the motorway. I quickly settled in, so did Den, unlike me he was soon snoring away leaving me to my own thoughts.
   
We have to transit Switzerland so we had a brief stop at the Basel crossing before following the signs for Zurich. The next stop was somewhat shorter, really just a toilet break and we were on our way again as a gloomy day turned into a damp evening. We finally ran out of motorway when we rejoined the Rhein, the final couple of hours through the Engadin to our destination are on main but narrow roads.

The best bit was the lack of traffic that made negotiating the twists and turns somewhat easier. We left the St Moritz road just after seven and after climbing for several kilometres we reached the Livigno tunnel. We had to wait our turn to go through, fully fifteen minutes as we’d just missed the lights.

Our passengers were getting a bit fractious by the time we set off through the narrow pipe but with Mrs Fraser making a round of announcements that changed to an air of expectation. Luckily we drove pretty much straight to the accommodation, a fairly new complex on the edge of the town. We hadn’t seen much snow on our journey down but here it was piled a couple of metres high.
   
©Maddy Bell 29.03.15

The passengers had a meal waiting for them so that left shifting cases to Den and myself – only as far as reception, we are not their personal slaves. The bad news or good, depending how you look at it, was that the coach parking wasn’t at the apartment complex but up in the town.

“I’ll take the bags up,” I offered.
“Guess I get a leg stretch then,” he mumped, “what are we doing for food?”
“We get breakfast but otherwise we find our own.”
“Great, I’ll see if I can pick something up in the town, there’s bound to be some sort of takeaway.”
“See you in a bit then.”
   
At least there was a lift; we’re up on the sixth floor. Of course in a place this big in high season our load weren’t the only group staying, yes we’re the only BET group but according to the meal schedule there are another six coach loads, two Dutch, three French, a Danish and German. I dragged our bags to the vertical conveyance, having to wait whilst someone played musical floors.
Of course our ‘employers’ had us booked to share a room, it’s a good job it’s me and Den, it so could’ve been an issue with a real mixed crew. Apartment makes it sound quite grand, in reality it’s a twin room with a tiny kitchenette pushed in a corner. I claimed a bed barely pausing to remove my shoes before collapsing onto it.
   
“Nena?”
Bump, bump, bump
“Come on, food’s getting cold.”

Eh? I blinked eyes open, where am, oh right.
“Nena!”
“Er coming.”
I shuffled over to the door and let my colleague in.
“Soz, I fell asleep.”
“I’ve been knocking for five minutes,” Den supplied as he slid a couple of pizza boxes and a carrier bag onto the kitchen worktop.

The smell of fresh, hot pepperoni pizza did an excellent job of waking me up; I found some plates whilst Den lost his coats and shoes.

“At least it’s warm in here, it was showing minus three at the weather station in the town.”
I realised that I was stood without shoes and didn’t have cold feet despite only wearing tights.
“Under floor heating,” I noted.
“Well we won’t freeze at least, there a bottle opener there?”

We don’t have any driving tomorrow which is just as well, Den had collected a six pack of Perroni and we cleared a couple each, to wash the pizza down you understand. Julie had tried to foist some silly frilly nightdress on me; I did veto that arguing that pyjamas would be more practical. After taking turns in the bathroom, the lights went out a little after ten and despite a background of squealing and shouting I was quickly out like a lamp.
   
“Urgh, coffee?” I moaned filling the kettle.
“Time is it?” Den enquired from under a mound of bedding.
“Nearly half nine.”
“Gonna miss brekkie then.”
“Hmm.”
   
We might not be driving today but we still have stuff to do, ergo cleaning our transport and refuelling. After that, time’s our own, oh goody. Coffee drunk, showered and dressed we set off into a sunny but sharp morning – no I wasn’t in a skirt, just as embarrassing though was the pink and white ski suit Jules had supplied along with matching boots.

“We’ll go up through the town, it’s a lot shorter.”
“We can get breakfast on the way then, I’m starving now.”

There might be plenty of snow but the main roads and footpaths were clear and dry, at least where the morning sun touched. The place might be quite small but there were plenty of people about, locals and would be skiers. We found a bakery still serving breakfast at nearly ten thirty; okay it’s not a full English, but they did manage scrambled egg and mini wurst – it might be technically Italy but there is a strong Germanic influence.
   
Fuel is cheap here, we’ll need to refill before we set off home and if we do it here Bill will save something like fifty quid on the tank. That done we returned to the parking area to complete the morning’s duties.

“I’ll do the outside,” Den stated.
Great. Well I’m not being cold; the engine was soon ticking over with the heaters at full blast which meant I could lose the restrictive ski suit while I worked. This is the bit of working on the coaches they don’t tell you about, keeping the bus clean and smart for the punters. Four dozen kids, a full day travelling and the result is lots of litter, I filled two black sacks and had to empty the seat hoover three times before I even got to doing the floor.

Den was finished well before me which got me out of toilet cleaning and making a brew. The earlier blue skies were clouding over and it was well after one before we were done.
   
“What’s the programme then, I didn’t get beyond the drive down.”
“There’s only one excursion, St Moritz and Bernina,” I rummaged for the timing sheet,” let’s see, yup, tomorrow they’re skiing again so Thursday we leave at nine to put them on a train at ten thirty to some place called Poschiavo, pick them up on the other side and go to the Cresta Run in St Moritz, bit of time in the town then back here for dinner.”
“I’ve not seen any sign of a railway here,“ Den observed.
I checked the paperwork, “No they get on at Poschiavo, which is why we pick them up at nine, says here it’s an hour’s drive.”
“I’ll check that later, BET seem to be a bit light on their timings according to Mick.”
“Paper pushers not drivers,” I mused.
“At least we can have a drink tonight,” Den sighed.

Any further musing on the programme was put to one side when someone rapped on the door. The chap grinned as he waited for Den to open the door.

“Hallo, you are staying with the kinder at the Federia?”
“Er yes,” I allowed.
“Gut, the other fahrer, we go together for dinner, trinkt this night, you join with us?”
I looked at Den, Den looked at me – it’s not like there’s a great deal else to do is it?
“Er sure,” I agreed.
“Gut, Rudi by the way,”
“Nena and this is Den, you have good English Rudi.”
“Danke, in the summer I am always in England, Schottland in the grosser yellow bus!” he motioned across the parking area to the only yellow bus, a monster double deck thing emblazoned with ‘Graf Reisen’.
“Where do we meet?” Den enquired.
“We have said reception at nineteen, if you miss us we go to the Ristorante Rusticana.”
“I’m sure we’ll find it.”
“We’ll see you later then Nena, Den, tschussie.”
“Tschuss.”
Rudi left with a smile and a wave.
“Get wood in’t hole!” I complained, Den was already on the case.
   
“We getting some lunch?” Den enquired as I rinsed our mugs out.
“I don’t want too much if we’re eating out tonight.”
“I saw a bakery type place on the way up here, sure they’ll do soup and stuff,” Den suggested.
“Could do with a supermarket too; get a few supplies in for the rest of the week.” I mentioned.
“Come on then, shake a leg.”
“I’ll be five minutes at least, I need to put my suit on before we go anywhere,” no way am I going out there without the full thermal kit!
   
The main street was surprisingly quiet given the time; I guess most visitors are making the most of the daylight out on the slopes. We passed a couple of drag lifts that start right in the town but even they were currently sparsely used. The bakery, well it was more of a patisserie cum restaurant, did do a lunch menu so we headed inside.
   
Pasticceria Svizzera was almost like a traditional tea shop just with an extended menu, not only that but it felt like we’d walked into a sauna. Of course Den just doffed his hat and took off his jacket, not for the first time today I cursed the pink suit that Jules had gifted me. My compromise was to slip out of the top before using a very unladylike knot in the sleeves to keep from exposing more than I wanted.

“That’s it, I’m buying some different stuff, this flippin’ suit is doing my head in!”
“And I thought you looked so cute,” Den chuckled.
“It’s pink, it’s awkward to wear, it’s not very practical and it’s pink!”
“Keep your hair on, girl, we’ll go shopping, what are you eating?”
   
I decided to go with a bowl of soup, we’re in Italy so minestrone seemed appropriate, what I wasn’t expecting was the huge bowl of vegetables and pasta that was delivered fifteen minutes later. I might’ve been better off with the Risotto Livigno that Dennis picked; at least that was a smaller portion. I manfully or should that be girlfully started on my food – it was certainly tasty enough but there was no way I’d be emptying the tureen on my own.

Particularly as I’d spotted a particularly fine gateaux I fancied a slice of, I gave up on the minestrone after fifteen minutes much to Den’s amusement. Of course gut bucket couldn’t let it go to waste, oh no he made short work of the remaining soup. It didn’t put my colleague off joining me for the cake either.

By the time we left the Svizzera the light was already starting to go, another hour and the valley will be plunged into darkness.
   
It’s a ski destination so there was no shortage of stores selling the kit, the good news was that the prices were lower than I’d expected, the bad was that in reality I didn’t have a clue what I needed. Den followed along with a grin on his face, smug sod.

“Come on, this one’ll do,” he suggested.
“I guess,” I agreed pushing the door open into the alien world of a ski shop.
“Buon giorno!” the twenty something guy offered from the counter area.
I’m crap at Italian, no really, German is what I do – well and English, “er,”
“Ah deutsche, guten abend”, go with the flow girl.
“Abend.”
“Are you looking for anything in particular?”
“I erm borrowed this suit which is not very convenient, it’s all or nothing.”
“For skiing it is good but not off the piste eh? Come we have some reduced lines that might suit you.”
   
You have to try stuff on right? So that means, if you are wearing a one piece ski suit that you have to take the whole thing off. I’m not a prude, well you must know that by now but standing in the middle of a shop in just a big jumper and thermals, it’s a bit embarrassing right? As Chris I wouldn’t’ve been too bothered but as Nena I felt somewhat exposed.
The stuff might have been on sale but it still made my wallet cry, two hundred for the jacket and one twenty for the salopettes. I managed to avoid a repeat of pink but the mauve and white wasn’t a great deal better, if I wanted stuff in more practical colours I’d have to fork out significantly more. Having spent out I decided to wear the stuff straight away, much more comfortable!

“Thank you for shopping at Mottini, enjoy your stay!”
“I will now, danke.”
“Ciao.”
“Tschussie.”
It was almost dark when we left the store, returning skiers already clogging the streets as they headed for cars, buses or accommodation.
   
“Bum, we’ve not got any supplies.”
“The supermarket is back towards the bus,” Den supplied.
“I guess it’ll wait until tomorrow if we’re eating out tonight.”
“Talking of which, you brought anything to wear?”
“What do you mean; I’ve just paid out on this stuff.”
“You can hardly sit in a restaurant in salopettes.”

He has a point I guess, I could simply cry off but that would hardly be fair on Den, I guess I can always wear some jeans?

©Maddy Bell 05.04.15

Jeans, I should be so lucky! My girlfriend has of course done a number on me again, what I assumed was a pair of denims turned out to be a skirt, well done, Jules. A quick check of my case revealed that I’m well kippered - posh frock, the denim skirt, a selection of underwear and hosiery, a sparkly jumper, several tops and two pairs of what might be loosely described as leggings. I say loosely as they were thicker, more like tracksuit bottoms I guess.

There is no way I’m going out to freeze my bits off in a dress or skirt.
   
“Come on, Nena, I’m ready for a beer,” Den mentioned.
“Just a minute,” I offered.
To be honest, I’m not sure that the white ski pants were any better than the skirt but I didn’t feel quite so exposed. One thing though, wearing the snow boots didn’t seem so out of place and with the big jumper I was at least reasonably warm. I opened the bathroom door to join my colleague.
“Well?”
“Thought you’d have a dress.”
“This is warmer,” I stated.
“Hmmph!”
“Come on then, I’m ready,” I chivvied as I pulled my new jacket on.
   
We crossed with Mrs Fraser in reception looking no happier than when we’d last seen her.
“Good day on the slopes?” I ventured.
“No broken bones at least.”
“That’s goo…ood,” I replied to her rapidly departing back
“Come on, I need that beer.”
“What is it with that woman?” I offered following Dennis out into the cool evening air.
Did I say cool, make that freezing!
   
The Ristorante Rusticana is hardly any distance from our lodgings but even so I was more than glad to step into the warm interior after the short walk.
“Nena, Den!” Rudi called out across the busy restaurant.
We made our way across to the table, already occupied by a bunch of unmistakably middle-aged bus drivers, except for the blonde woman chatting in French to a chap with a very French moustache.
“Find yourselves seats, what are you drinking?” Rudi queried.
“Beer.” Den stated.
   
We found seats, drinks arrived, introductions were made, food arrived and the ‘Bus Fahrer’ party was in full flow. The food, as you might expect was Italian, a pasta buffet in effect – lasagne, tortellini, ravioli with salad and garlic bread for variety. Yes there was drink but not to excess – you don’t last long in this business if you drink excessively.

With the food consumed several conversations ran counterpoint across our table, the traffic hold ups at Mont Blanc, something about Van Hool braking – you get the idea, talking shop. There might be several nationalities present but language was no barrier to the good natured banter and exchanges. To be honest I was quite happy just listening, Den was in his element.
“They talk some bull eh?”
“Eh?” my musing was broken by Anne Marie sliding into the seat next to me, “Er sure.”
“So how come you are working the bus?”
“I um got a job offer out of University.”
“From the English? You are German, non?”
“I went to University in Nottingham, how did…”
“I guess you are German? Your English is very good but you still have a German accent.”
“I do?”
“So, Dennis, he is your boyfriend?”
“No, no, just colleague. You and…?”
“For my sins, we are married, Francois and me, ten years.”
“You do the buses full time?”
“No, but a ski trip, well it’s a good opportunity for some fun eh? You ski?”
   
“Only at school once or twice,” I admitted – Xscape at Castleford isn’t exactly the Alps!
“You should come, you work tomorrow?”
“No thankfully.”
She leant past me and tugged on Den’s sleeve, “Hey Dennis, I’m stealing Nena from you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” he replied before returning to discussing the difficulties of finding fuel in Antwerp.
“So, Nena, we girls will go on the piste tomorrow.”
“But…”
“We’ll do the Carosello, I’ll pick you up at nine thirty, we can hire at the station.”
   
“Anne Marie, it’s late eh?” Francois suggested from across the table.
“Looks like I have a busy night,” my new friend noted with a wink, “nine thirty.”
“Um yes,” I agreed.
“Goodnight everyone.”
   
It was gone eleven when we headed back to the Federia.
“So what were you girls talking about?” Den queried.
“This and that, apparently we’re going skiing tomorrow.”
“Me? I’ve got two left feet.”
“No just me, she’s collecting me after breakfast.”
“I was gonna suggest we went up one of the cable cars for lunch.”
“You could still do that, do I have an accent?”
“A bit, it’s quite cute.”
“That’s all I need, a cute accent!”
“Cute accent for a cute girl, ”he mentioned before scampering off
Den was pushing his luck now!
“Why you…” I started giving chase.
   
To be honest, Den’s plan of a lazy day with a cable car up the mountain to get lunch sounded more appealing than joining Anne Marie on two planks but how do I cry off? I don’t have her phone so I’ll have to see her to even cancel at which point – looks like I’m skiing.

“So where are you snow bunnies off to?” Den asked as I sipped at my second cup of coffee.
“Caro something I think she said, why?”
“Just so I know where to start searching.”
“Funn-eee.”
   
Fifteen minutes later I was stood outside the hotel block feeling about as nervous as you get. For a second day the skies were clear and blue but the temperature was struggling to make plus.
A car horn sounded followed by, “Nena!”
It took me a moment to work out that Anne Marie was in the car, well taxi that had hooted.
“Morning.”
“Morning yourself, come on get in, we can beat the schools if we’re lucky,” she suggested.

I climbed in beside her and our dour driver wordlessly set off. Livigno tends to the long and stringy and our destination lies pretty much at the other end of the town. It’s not a long way but far enough you wouldn’t want to walk, the taxi made short work of the distance and barely ten minutes later we were joining the early bird skiers outside of the Carosello cable car station.
   
“Come on, we can hire our kit at the top after a coffee.”
“Er sure.”
We joined the queue for tickets - €44! Sheesh I don’t want to buy the mountain! This trip is turning into an expensive do. By the time we’d paid and waited for our turn in a gondola it was after ten, we’re not going to get a lot of skiing in at this rate. The cabin only holds eight in a ‘friendly’ confinement; conversation was somewhat limited as we skimmed up the mountainside.

At the top Anne Marie took charge leading the way to the self service restaurant to get that coffee.
“There you go, it has a leetle extra eh,” my personal organiser declared plonking a tray on the table.
“Thanks, it’s busy up here, you been before?”
“Last year, there is more snow this time.”

Alps, February, 3000m – I’d expect snow. I sipped at the coffee, I’m not sure what the extra was but it certainly had a bit of a kick! We didn’t dawdle, a quick visit to the ladies and it was out to the pop up ski shop using a marquee type thing just below the gondola station. I let Anne Marie do the talking, she managed to negotiate what amounted to half the normal price for our ski and boot hire.
   
My companion is clearly quite accomplished on skis, I’m shall we say, not! A couple of sessions on an indoor dry slope don’t really prepare you for the real white stuff several years down the line so whilst Anne Marie whooshed down the slopes; I was more like Bambi on ice. Somehow I avoided falling over, that is until I took both of us out at the bottom of the run.

“You ladies alright?” a chap in an orange jacket enquired.
“I think so, my friend she is a bit rusty.”
“Completely corroded,” I muttered under my breath.
“Well be careful, enjoy your day.”
Our would be rescuer departed with more skill and less effort than I could imagine is possible.
   
“Grr, bit of a hunk eh?”
To be honest I never really took much notice, I might look like a woman at the moment but sexually I’m 100% heterosexual. I guess that means for now I have to pretend to like men, I’m not sure how Jules would take to being a lesbian.
“I was too busy getting untangled to notice.”
   
“Plenty more candy in the store,” she sang back.
Just my luck, I get abducted by a man-mad French woman.
   
We got in another two runs before I suggested that one o’clock, i.e. now, would be good to break for lunch. I was actually starting to get a bit more flow into my skiing now and just about managed to keep up as we punted towards the restaurants. We were just parking our skis when my phone started buzzing.

“Hi Den.”
“Where are you?”
“At the top of the Carosello, we’re just gonna get some lunch.”
“So it was you I could see, I’ll join you down at the Stuvetta.”
“Er okay.”
I ended the call and stowed my phone.
“Dennis?”
“Yeah, he said he was catching a car up the mountain for lunch, I never thought it would be this one. He says to meet him at the Stuvetta?”
“Sure, why not.”
We headed inside the building where a sign pointed downstairs to the Stuvetta Spaghetteria and a la carte restaurants.

“What’s Francois doing today?” I enquired as we clomped downwards.
“What Francois does all the time he’s not working or having sex, sleeping.”
I was a little taken aback by her frankness but I was saved from further embarrassment by finding Dennis at the bottom of the stairs.
“You two look a bit flushed.”
“It’s a leetle cold outside, handsome.”
Now it was Den’s turn to blush!
   
Maddy Bell 17.05.17

“So, you girls going back on the slopes?” Den enquired.
We hadn’t splurged too much on lunch, in fact lunch for Anne-Marie was nothing more than coffee although I succumbed to a bowl of soup with my beverage, of course Den had to have a proper meal, well a tureen of spaghetti at any rate.

The French fiend gave the view outside a quick look before replying.
“I think the light, it is good for at least another run.”
“Think I’ll watch from the veranda,” Den told us.
Looks like the purple peril gets to slip and slide the slopes again.
   
My third run of the day was at least uneventful, I didn’t hit anyone, fall over or otherwise embarrass myself too much. Although time was getting on a bit, Anne Marie was keen to go again, me rather less so I have to say.

“Oh come on, girl, you only live once.”
‘And I’d like to keep doing it,’ I thought to myself.
I spotted Den watching us from the balcony of the Ristorante Carosello, beer in hand, my pride got the better of me, “The blue lift?”
The French woman raised an eyebrow, “Okay.”

Of course to call it a lift is a misnomer, it’s a long cable you hang onto which pulls you up the slope so you can slide back down and the Blue, according to the board I saw earlier will take us some way further up the mountain than our previous activities off the Green. It’s not the quickest means of transport but in lieu of any alternative it’s pretty much your only means of reaching the higher slopes without trying to walk up – I don’t think so! Looking down from the top several things came to mind, it’s high, it’s steep and it’s a long way back down to the Carosello Bergstation!
“If you want to go ahead,” I suggested.
“Are you okay? You look a leetle pale.”
“I’m fine, really, I’ll just take my time.”
She didn’t look entirely convinced, “I’ll wait for you at the big rock okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed.
She pushed off and with a deep breath I followed.
   
Anne Marie zoomed away, swishing through wide loops across the piste with effortless ease, meanwhile I managed to land on my posterior twice before making one turn. Other skiers zipped past but I stoically descended, the shadows lengthening across the slope around me. I only fell once more before reaching the rock.
“You enjoy that?”
“I think so.”
“You did well I would say, so we should continue, the light, it is losing.”

At a guess it’s still only about three thirty but whilst the opposite side of the valley was bathed in winter sun we weren’t and as the shadows moved in the temperature was starting to fall. The number of skiers up here was thinning rapidly too, the Bergwachte in their orange jackets were descending behind them. With a deep breath I pushed myself onto the slope, my companion close behind.
   
Of course I managed to get to the bottom before overconfidence resulted in what can best be described as a single party incident. Don’t ask me what happened, one moment I was gliding across the snow, the next I was a tangle of arms, legs, poles and ski. I say ski, the other apparently not liking my company as it slipped away down slope.
“Chris!”
“Nena!”
I managed to pull my snow encrusted goggles free to find Den and Anne Marie rushing to my aid.
“Are you okay, girl?”
“Think so,” I allowed as I disentangled myself, “ooh!”
More bodies arrived including one of the orange jackets.
“Deutsche?”
“Er ja,” I fibbed wincing at the pain in my arm.
   
“So nothing broken?” Den enquired when I emerged from the Bergwachte station thirty minutes later.
“No thank god, bad sprain, they’ve strapped it but that’s the end of my skiing.”
“Anything to get out of loading the bus.”
“I wasn’t gonna do that anyway, where’s Anne Marie?”
“She went down to the facilities a few minutes ago, said she’ll see us at the hire place.”
“Sugar, I lost a ski,” great, that’s my deposit gone.
“At least you’re okay, come on.”
   
We found Anne Marie flirting outrageously with the young guy at the hire place.
“Here she is, how is the arm?”
“Not broken, just a sprain. I er seem to have lost a ski.”
“Gianno, is that a problem,” she addressed the hunky chap who was taking charge of the poles and remaining ski from Dennis.
“Problem? There is nothing to miss.”

Turns out the wayward ski had been retrieved and returned while I was getting treatment. I needed help getting my footwear changed, look I can’t use that arm okay so Den had to do the honours.
   
“So I’ll see you at the Rusticana later yes, I’d best go find Francois.” Anne Marie sighed.
I think she’d enjoyed herself, I did up to a point, now I just ache and hurt, apart from my arm I ache in places I didn’t know you could.
“Um okay,” I agreed.
The Ristorante Rusticana is apparently the social hub for the visiting coach crews, a fixture for friends old and new. We could self cater or go elsewhere but given my arm and not wishing to appear churlish the Rusticana is it. Our taxi had us back at the Federia in double quick time, it’s still heading toward six though, my spill on the slopes really had delayed our return to town.
   
“Bugger, I can’t even dress myself.”
“You need a hand?” Den offered.
“I’ll manage,” I grumbled from the bathroom.
Of course a shower wasn’t an option, and now after a quick wash I was struggling to even get fresh knickers on – no way am I asking Den for help! My limited wardrobe options found me in the skirt with a reprise of the jumper and I don’t care that the boots look a bit daft – it was easy to put on and it’s not that far to the restaurant.
   
It was pretty much the same faces around the table, somehow Anne Marie looked even more chic and glamorous than last night and I don’t think she spent too much of the last ninety minutes getting ready. Not by the look on Francois’ face.

“You are okay, Nena?” Rudi enquired, clearly the tale of my mishap had gone ahead of me.
“No lifting for a few days,” I supplied.
“Nothing changes there,” Den opined which raised several sniggers around the table.
“Hmmph!”
Beer, wine and food arrived and we settled in for a relaxing evening.
   
“No excursions for the Englishers?” Rudi asked as we all started preparing to depart for our beds.
“Some train ride tomorrow morning then into Moritz,” Den supplied.
“Bernina! We go the same, which train?”
“Nena, what time’s the train? Rudi’s got the same trip.”
“Er ten thirty at Poschiavo? Set off at nine.”
“Nine? You’ll never do it,” Rudi opined.
“Damn, I knew that seemed a bit tight,” I groaned, “how long, Rudi?”
“Two hours would be best I think, it’s nearly 100km.”
“That far?” Den queried, “I only made it about forty, up over the Forcola then drop down to Poschiavo.”
Rudi chuckled, “In summer maybe, this time of year it’s closed.”
“So we have to go out through the tunnel?”
“No, they keep the Bormio road open but it’s not a great road.”
“You on the same train?” I enquired.
“I think yes but we board at Tirano at ten.”
“We need to have words with Mrs Fraser,” Den sighed.
Oh joy, the perfect end to a perfect day – not!
   
Of course I got the unpleasant job of breaking the news, I eventually tracked her down in her room back at the Federia.
“So you are saying we need to leave earlier?” she barked.
“Only thirty minutes.”
“Thirty minutes, might as well be thirty days!”
“I’ve spoken to the hotel, they are okay with an earlier breakfast.” Planning, that’s my thing, I shall be having words with BET when we get back.
“They might be but the students won’t be,” she pointed out, “I shall be complaining about this.”
“Well it’s either this or miss the train,” I pointed out.
   
“So?” Den asked when I returned to our room.
“No promises but if we’re ready we’re covering ourselves.”
“Let’s hope the road’s clear.”
“Fingers crossed,” I agreed.
   
We might’ve made ourselves thirty minutes but Rudi was already on his yellow behemoth when we reached the coach park at seven forty five, he’s away at eight.
“See you later,” Rudi called out as we opened up our own bus.
“I hope so,” I replied.
“Tschuss!”
“Tschuss.”
“Come on, girl, let’s get Betsy warmed up.”

You might think it’s a two minute job, hop on, fire up and away you go, if only. By the time you’ve sorted out the tacho, checked everything’s working, let the heater start its work, well fifteen minutes are long gone. Oh I nearly forgot, we have to get the bus to the passengers too.
   
Despite Mrs Fraser’s misgivings, all of the girls were on the bus with time to spare, it was actually one of the adults who delayed us beyond the revised departure time. Even Livigno has a rush hour that didn’t exactly improve matters, by the time we started the climb out of Livigno it was already nearly ten to nine, the clock is ticking. The low winter sun at least gave us cause to expect a clear road over the Trepalle and Cima which, whilst not that high wouldn’t be fun with snow in the ground.

“Well that went better than it could’ve,” I allowed in a low voice.
“Let’s hope there are no hold ups,” Den supplied, “we’re still not out of the woods.”
“And who’ll get it in the neck if they miss the train?”

Beyond the windows the mountains of the Engadin soared around us, not that the beauty and grandeur surrounding us had many viewers from the Global bus. The girls were mostly lost in conversation, even the adults of the party taking no notice of the views. So much for educational tours, they could’ve been driving around the fens for all the attention being paid to northern Italy.

We dropped towards Bormio and joined the string of trucks and cars heading down the valley towards Tirano. Apart from some temporary lights at the Sondalo tunnel we made good progress so I was shocked when we reached Tirano to find it was already ten to ten. If we hadn’t moved things up there is no way we could’ve made our train.

At least we are ahead of the train, we actually had to wait for a Bernina train to go into Tirano. That did at least garner some interest as the line runs a short way actually along the St Moritz road. We crossed into Switzerland and at least the road was better surfaced but there wouldn’t be a lot to spare.

I took the mic and clicked it on.
“Could I have everyone’s attention for just a minute please,” it took a moment for the chatter to decrease.
“Right we’ll be at Poschiavo in a few minutes, there won’t be much time to get to the platform so if you want to be on the train and not on the bus you need to be ready to get off as soon as we arrive.”

Well I’ve done my bit, now it’s up to them.
I flicked another look at the clock, ten past and I reckon still almost twenty kilometres left to go.
   
©Maddy Bell 04.08.16

We’d barely pulled into the station forecourt when with a toot of his horn; Rudi’s big yellow machine went past.
“I bet the trains not far away,” Den suggested as our passengers started to disembark.

As if in reply there was a toot from the ascending transport, clearly not that far away. We’d made it but not with a great deal to spare, the stragglers were still heading for the platform when the Bernina Express slunk into the station. Yeah very close, the saving grace really being the trains scheduled five-minute stop at Poschiavo ostensibly for loading.

“What now?”
“Over the pass I guess, we meet the train at this Punt Ota place in an hour,” I advised checking the timing sheet.
“Lets hope that’s more accurate than the drive over,” Den mused as he put our transport into gear.
“Might get time for a cuppa, I’ll put the boiler on,” I suggested before heading down the bus.
   
The Bernina is more popular with tourists than hauliers even though its 2253m summit is kept open year round. Of course the best way to see it isn’t on the front seat of a coach but even so it was quite pretty and although there are a couple of interesting bends we made good progress to the summit. By now we were ahead of the train so we pulled into the parking lot at the Ospizio Bernina for our cuppa.

We were best part of the way through our beverages before Den spotted the train on its approach to the pass top station, its red livery standing out in the mostly white landscape. It might be called the Bernina Express but averaging 30kph it’s not exactly the traditional speedy mover you normally associate with the term. A southbound train snaked across the rolling landscape, which attracted Den’s camera and a brief trip outside.

The railway and road chase each other northwards for about ten kilometres so that despite setting off behind our charges train we soon caught up and paced it for a bit before we pulled ahead.

“Why are you stopping, the crossings open,”
“Photo opportunity,” my colleague advised, “be a good shot for the brochure.”
Well you don’t think those pictures take themselves do you and a set up like Global can’t afford to employ a professional photographer, us crew supply most of the pictures. Den grabbed his camera and I joined him over the road to watch the train pass.
“Gotcha!”
“Give over, you’re supposed to be taking pretty pictures of trains.”
“I was, it’s behind you.”   
Wooooooo!
I nearly jumped out of my skin as the train announced its arrival at the crossing. Brakes squealed, carriages clanked and it was gone, we waited for the traffic to clear and returned to Betsy. Any advantage we had time wise we’d now lost although the shorter road route down the valley let us pull in next to Rudi a couple of minutes ahead of the trains arrival.
   
“Sightseeing eh?” Rudi suggested.
“David Bailey here wanted some photographs,” I told him.
“David Bailey?”
“It’s an English thing,” Den filled.
Rudi shrugged, “you go straight to Moritz?”
“We are supposed to be stopping at Muottas Muragl for lunch.”
“Ah, we too,” the German noted, “there’s a restaurant at the top.”
We were interrupted by the arrival of our respective parties before I could pursue more of Rudi’s expertise.
   
So of course whilst the signs directed you to Muottas Muragl where you end up is actually the parking area for a funicular railway that takes you up to Muottas Muragl. I checked my paperwork, there was no mention of a trip on these rails, just lunch.

“This doesn’t look right,” I mentioned in a low voice to Den.
“Not another muck up.”
“Er Mrs Fraser?” why do I get these jobs?
   
By the time we’d ascertained that whilst we were in the correct location, the funicular ride to the restaurant wasn’t included, the Germans, Rudi and his mate, Johannes were away up the mountain. Strictly speaking we were at Punt Muragl where apart from the base station for the railway there’s a petrol station but nowhere to eat. Damn BET again, just wait until I tell Bill.

The girls weren’t actually ‘doing’ anything at the bobsleigh run – oh they were getting a talk and they’d watch madmen sliding down the hillside but they weren’t old enough to ‘enjoy’ the course in person. A quick phone call and the visit was moved up an hour, they’d have longer in the town after than was planned, can’t say our driver was too upset about that.
   
In theory BET paid bill to supply transport, not guides but on these winter trips, well sometimes you have to get involved, especially when the teachers can’t speak the lingo. I agreed to go with the girls while Dennis took the bus down to the other end of the course to pick us up. We’d been in the clubhouse getting the lecture for about five minutes when one of the officials beckoned me to one side.

“Would you like to be our rider today?”
“Er sorry?”
“For school parties we take a teacher on the run.”
“But I’m not a teacher.”
“You are with this party yes?”
“Er yes, of course.”
“In that case, you are our girl!”
“But…”
   
Despite my protestations, ten minutes later I was thrust in front of the schoolgirls sporting the latest in designer protective gear, oh yeah, now we’re rockin’ – not.
“So, we can see our volunteer rider?” the chap in charge queried.
“Er Nena,” I volunteered.
“She is ready to hit the ice so let us go outside, we’ll walk down the course to see how she gets on eh?”
He led the girls outside whilst I was escorted to the start area.
   
You see it on the telly, the guys sprinting along then jumping into the Bob, thankfully for guests only the driver and brakeman start outside of the missile. I was nearly wetting myself sat listening to the safety talk, we won’t be going at race speeds but even so we’ll be going over fifty miles an hour at times.

“Okay, Markus, Stefan when you’re ready,” the instructor suggested.
If I live through this I’ll, I’ll need a stiff drink!

The starting sequence um, started. I watched the ‘traffic’ lights and our crew started rocking the sled back and forth, beep, beep, beep, the lights flashed to green and we set off. Of course you don’t start at full speed, around the first couple of bends we picked up momentum, the ice walls flashing past just inches away. Its not like you can actually see very much but as we hit the first sharp bend I closed my eyes, not opening them again until we started to slow.

My legs were like jelly and I wanted to lose my dinner, except I’ve not eaten yet. By comparison my co passenger, an American chap, was all yee ha that was until he tried to get up and he had a severe case of rubber legs! As a lady, well I’m not exactly going to say otherwise am I; I got lifted out of the sled and off the track by Markus, our all-important brakeman.

I had just about got my composure back when the girls arrived.
“Lets here it for Nena,” Mr Bobsleigh suggested.
“Way to go Miss!”
“Awesome!”
   
“Sooner you than me,” Mrs Fraser told me as we headed towards Den and the bus.
“I didn’t exactly volunteer, that was terrifying.”
“I think you gained some fans, it still took guts.”
“I guess.” I allowed.
“Jennifer Horton, stop that at once!”
Back to normal then.
“We’ll drop them off in the town, Rudi says the coach park is down by the swimming pool,” Den told me once we had everyone back on board.
“Okay, I’m starving.”
“The chap at the sledge place said there’s a couple of cafés round there.”
   
We beat Rudi to the parking by moments; he must’ve followed us down from the town.
“What happened at Muottas? Johannes saw you leaving from the top.”
“Some crossed wires,” I offered, “It’s a long story.”

We decamped to a restaurant I’d spotted on the way to the parking and convinced the boss to do Den and I some lunch, they’d actually stopped food a few minutes before we arrived. The whole sorry St Moritz adventure was shared with our German friends, Den hadn’t heard about the bobsleigh either.

“They go some serious speed,” Rudi noted.
“I just held on – tight.”
“You wouldn’t get me on there,” Johannes stated.
“Or me,” Den agreed.
“Patron!” Rudi called across the restaurant, “Große schnapps for the lady, she has ridden the bobsleigh!”
Its not that big a deal, mind you the schnapps hit the spot when it arrived.
   
“I suppose we have to back track to Livigno,” Den mused as we finished up with cake and our third coffee.
“Its much shorter by the tunnel,” Rudi told us.
“Tunnel?”
“Into Livigno, you arrived that way yes?”
“Er yeah,” I agreed, “I thought that was miles from here.”
“Maybe forty, straight down to Zernez, turn right, ten minutes.”
“That’ll save some time, I thought we were in for three hours back across those passes,” Den allowed.
“Old Rudi has his uses eh?”
“Its worth a beer later,” I grinned.

We might’ve only met a couple of days ago but it feels like we’ve known each other forever. Of course the complication to that is they all think I’m Nena, Anne Marie, Johannes, Francois, Rudi, they’re all Nena’s friends, they don’t know Chris at all. Oh well, we might not see each other again after this week, in this business you can go months without seeing drivers on your own fleet!
   
Although we went to collect our passengers fifteen minutes before Rudi, late arrivals at the pick up meant our two coaches travelled down the Inn valley in convoy. The first stretch has been straightened and even has some dual carriageway but after about twenty kilometres it returns to a typically narrow and twisty Swiss country road. Given the time of year the light had pretty much gone by the time we hit this stretch, which slowed our progress.

There’s only one proper junction in Zernez so that was hard to miss, twenty minutes later we were waiting at the tunnel to return to Livigno. By the time we emerged into Italy it was into full pitch black, it’s only when you emerge from the second two-kilometre tunnel ten minutes later that the first twinkles of civilisation appear in the distance. It felt like the middle of the night but we arrived back at the Federia in time for the kids to make their slot for the evening meal at six.
Of course we still had to park the bus at the other end of town.
   
“‘Suppose we’ll have to walk,” I sighed, the taxi rank being bereft of transport.
“We’ve got time,” Den observed.
“Guess so.”

I pulled my jacket tighter around my neck. It hadn’t been exactly hot in St Moritz but it might’ve got into plus this afternoon but here in Livigno, in the dark, the temperature is distinctly cool. We struck off towards the hotel, the main drag, even at this time, almost deserted.
“Don’t you find this all a bit weird?”
“Weird?” Den asked.
“You know, all this Nena stuff.”
“A bit I suppose, got used to it now.”
“Really?”
“Well the first couple of trips, they were weird, I could see Nena but my brain insisted it was Chris.”
“It is Chris,” I pointed out.
“Well anyhow once I started thinking of Nena as a separate person it got much easier.”
“So if I’m ‘Nena’ you think of Chris as someone else?”
“Uh huh, it’s actually more freaky when you, that’s you Nena aren’t in full woman mode, you know, wearing trousers and coats.”
“Like now?”
“I guess.”
“But they’re women’s clothes.”
“Not saying otherwise, I just like seeing women in frocks,” he allowed.
   
©Maddy Bell 06.08.16

“Damn you, Dennis,” I muttered as I poked myself in the eye with the mascara wand again.
So okay it was my choice to make but Dennis’ earlier remark cut deeper than I thought so here I am, tarting myself up to go eat dinner with a bunch of bus drivers. It’s not even that anyone has doubted my apparent gender but I guess Den hit a nerve, a thread of insecurity. It’s hardly surprising, whilst I think I make a reasonably convincing woman, well if the charade was laid bare the consequences would be dire and not just for me.

The whole Nena thing has gone from a bit of a lark to prove a point all the way to this week where I actually sort of volunteered to appear as my alter ego. I can’t deny it’s had its fun moments but it’s not me, it’s a part I’m playing, underneath Nena’s bleached locks and the girly clothes it’s still Chris Hornby. Which is where things get a bit weird, my significant other doesn’t seem to mind who’s in the bed, Nena or Chris.

“It’s gone seven,” Den called through the door.
With a sigh I capped the mascara and with a last look in the mirror departed the bathroom.
“About ti…” Den stopped mid sentence.
“Girly enough?”
“Er,” he started, “when I said, well I didn’t mean…”
“I know but it was in the case shouting ‘wear me’.”
It was the white leather dress Nena, that’s me, bought on a previous visit to central Europe. Of everything in the shared Julia/Nena wardrobe why the heck did she pick this? It’s white, not exactly warm and it’s rather, er close in the fit department. A black roll neck helped with the warmth aspect but the only suitable hose wasn’t gonna help and the supplied white ankle boots lost any winter practicality with their three inch stiletto heels – oh well.
“So we ready then?”
“I’d best change my shirt,” Den opined.
   
I kept a tight grip on Den’s arm for the walk to the Rusticana, fearful of taking a fall in my impractical footwear but isn’t that women all over? He didn’t have a tie – well other than his company one so even swapping his polo shirt for a ‘proper’ full button left Den at smart casual rather than formal which meant I felt less of a narna when we de-coated in the convivial interior.

It must be like women’s sixth sense, Anne Marie was dressed, well more dressy than usual too – I’ve not seen her without full war paint, even when we were skiing but tonight was more er posh.

“So, Nena, how’s the arm?”
“Still a bit sore,” I allowed, to be truthful it hadn’t been a problem until this afternoon, the silly bobsleigh ride didn’t improve my comfort.
“I guess you won’t be on the slopes tomorrow then?”
“I think my skiing is over for this trip.”
“Hasn’t stopped other winter sports, eh?” Rudi remarked from down the table.
Anne Marie raised an eyebrow before looking toward an oblivious Den. Thanks pal.
“Not that sort of sport,” I hurriedly mentioned.
“Young people today,” the French woman sighed, “no sense of fun.”
I suppose that as I’m posing as Den’s love interest it wouldn’t’ve been out of character but not going there, ut uh, not happening – even in someone else’s head.
“I got conned into a sledge ride in St Moritz,” I allowed.
“Sounds interesting.”

So of course between my first spritzer and the arrival of a huge tureen of risotto I had to recount the tale of Nena Ziegler, bobsleigh passenger. Of course it seemed more ridiculous and less terrifying each time I recounted things, mind you I don’t think I’ll ever forget the fear as we hit that turn at silly miles per hour. At least with that out of the way we could get on with the main business of the evening, eating!
   
“Well if we aren’t skiing tomorrow, how about we take the bus to Bormio,” Anne Marie suggested as we nursed our coffee.
“The bus needs fuelling and cleaning,” I told her.
“Dennis can do that, come on, lunch is on me,” she tempted.
“I can’t.”
“Dennis,” she called past me, “you can clean your bus alone, yes?”
“I can?”
“There you go, Nena, Dennis will clean the bus, we can go shopping!”
Does she never give up?
“I’ll collect you at nine, wear something nice, no ski suits eh?”
“I er,” I started.
“Anne Marie, come,” Francois instructed from by the door.
She rolled her eyes, “Looks like it is time for my winter sports, eh? Nine o’clock sharp, Bonsoir, a bientôt!”
   
“What was that all about,” Den enquired as the waitress delivered another round of drinks to the remaining diners.
“Apparently I’m going shopping tomorrow.”
“We can sort the bus out early, give you the rest of the day to ‘bond’.”
“Less of the we, you sort of volunteered to do it on your own.”
“I did?”
“See, that’s confirmed the situation,” I giggled.
“I walked into that one didn’t I? We meeting for lunch then?”
“Girls’ day, we’re going to Bormio apparently.”
“Don’t worry, Dennis, Johannes and I will take you up the mountain for some beer,” Rudi chuckled.
“Well that’s sorted then,” I declared, only question is, what do I wear?
   
“Penny for ‘em?” Den asked as we returned to the Aparte Federia a little later.
“She played us both didn’t she?”
“Anne Marie?”
“Who else?”
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“You okay sorting the bus on your own?”
“It’s not too bad inside, I was going to take her up to the truck wash anyway.”
“I don’t have to go with Anne Marie,” I offered hoping for a reprieve.
“I’ll cope, I’ve done it before, just bring me something back.”
“’Kay,” I sighed as we reached our accommodation.
   
It looked like it was going to be another clear day, cold but dry and bright, no help now as I stood outside of the Federia waiting for Anne Marie shivering my bits off. I checked up the road again, no sign of the French woman so of course I nearly jumped out of my skin when her voice called out to me.

“Come on, Nena, don’t want to miss the bus!”
I looked around for the accompanying body but to no avail.
“Over here!”
I spotted her then, leaning out of the taxi’s window, you’d have thought I’d have cottoned on quicker after the other day.
“I thought we were catching the bus?” I asked as I slid in beside her.
“We are but the station in the these shoes is too far.”

The car took off in a hurry and seemingly moments later we were at Livigno’s answer to Victoria Coach Station, two platforms sharing a single Plexiglas shelter. Not being a regular wearer of women’s heeled shoes I tottered along behind Anne Marie to the bus at the front of the platform.
“Due retituisce a Bormio per favour.”
“7 euro a testa,” the driver replied.

We found seats; despite it being a service bus they were coach style so at least we’d have an element of comfort. It’s always a bit of a novelty to be a passenger rather than driver or courier and I settled down to enjoy the ride. However, Anne Marie had other ideas, we hadn’t set off before she started a non-stop, mostly one sided, conversation.

I missed the view out over Livigno; we were at Trepalle before she drew breath, the bus pulling up outside the ski lift station
“There is great skiing at the Mottolini,” motor mouth advised.
“Isn’t that where the cable car goes to, the one near the coach park?”
“Yes, there are several lifts up to 3000m.”
“Maybe a bit beyond me,” I allowed.
“It’s no worse than the Carosello, so maybe there are some technical runs.”

We were dropping down into Bormio in apparently no time, the continual chatter reducing the hour-long journey to a few glances at the outside world. It might be a bigger town than Livigno but the bus station was no better although it was at least in the town centre. Not sure what we’re going to do all day but here we are.
“Coffee first,” Anne Marie declared leading the way towards a convenient coffee house, metres from the bus stops.
   
“So er what’re we doing now?” I enquired once we’d got our caffeine kick.
“There are some nice shops along the Via Roma.”
Well she did say it was a shopping trip I suppose, not sure why I’ve had to get dressed up mind. It’s a ski resort so clearly there were plenty of stores selling all the clobber, expensive compared to Livigno but even I can pick out the big brands, several having their own brand stores. My guide paid these scant heed, I guess unless you need a new jacket or salopettes it’s not stuff you just window shop.

Interspersed with the sports stores were the boutiques and whilst there was a H&M concession we’re really talking designer stuff. My eyes boggled just looking in the windows, €600 for a pair of jeans!

“Come on,” Anne Marie encouraged at the door of one such store.
“Inside?”
“Well you can’t buy through the windows,” she pointed out.
“I can’t afford this stuff,” not that I intend buying anything today anyhow.
“Neither can I,” she told me, “but they don’t know that.”
   
Obviously I’ve seen these places on my travels but it’s not like they are of any interest to me, Julia maybe but certainly not Chris. Inside it was empty, well not actually empty but the amount of stock was tiny, certainly not rails rammed with stuff. I took my lead from Anne Marie who had homed in on what looked like a pretty ordinary cable knit dress.

“What do you think Nena?” she asked holding it out for inspection.
“I think you’d need a perfect figure to do it justice, it’ll show any er, bumps,” I suggested.
“What are you saying?”
“I didn’t mean you, just that it’s not very er, forgiving.”
“You are right of course, maybe one for the ski bunnies.”
She moved on and I took the chance to check the tag, how much?
   
Whilst I declined to join in when she went as far as trying on a €900+ dress in one place, by the fifth store I was a bit more comfortable and was taking a little bit more interest.

“My feet are killing me,” I stated as we returned to the street.
Anne Marie raised a delicate brow.
“I don’t wear heels that often, not very practical on the bus,” I filled.
“Lunch then, Enoteca Guanella is not far.”
“Eh knot g’nella?”
“Enoteca Guanella, it’s a gem, you’ll love it.”
“Okay, lead on.”
   
Clearly my guide had been before as she didn’t hesitate in leading me into the, let’s say un-prepossessing interior after a short walk back towards the Via Roma. Well the restaurant was as promised, excellent – a typically rustic interior set the tone but the food. In the end I went for gnocchi al forno, the resulting bowl of pasta was huge, I had to leave some there was so much.

The shared bottle of red left me a little light headed, it’s a good job I’m not driving until the morning.

“A few more shops?” Anne Marie suggested.
“There’s more?”
“A few,” she allowed.
What the heck, “Lead on.”
   
We only actually managed one more shop as my ‘friend’ got distracted by an offer in Friseur Anton. Well a hairdresser is no worse than the expensive boutiques so I barely hesitated in following her inside.
©Maddy Bell 09.08.16

I sipped at my hot chocolate; the bus wasn’t due for another fifteen minutes.
“That’s better,” Anne Marie sighed as she slipped back into her seat opposite me.
“I should do the same.”
“It’s the second door,” she advised as I stood up.
“’Kay.”

I’ve got the whole toilet thing as Nena down to a fine art now, it used to take me ages sorting everything out afterwards but as they say, practice makes perfect. I quickly touched up my lips before being distracted again by what I saw in the mirror. Yeah, I’ll admit that I look like Nena without too much effort but now the reflection – what have I done?

Well okay it’s only a haircut, but it’s a haircut that enforces the persona of Nena more than the clothes or the makeup. No, there’s no doubt that I now have a hairstyle that no man would ever have, well I guess I do but you know what I mean. It’s not even all curls or something but it just screams ‘girl’ when you look at it, it’s not any one thing but the whole package from the severe fringe to the carefully layered and shaped rear.

It could’ve been worse, they wanted to colour it but the trip back to Livigno saved me from that. Why did I agree to it? Goodness only knows, in fact I can’t actually remember agreeing to anything more than a quick trim. Well it’s done now, looks like I’ll be getting a number one next week!
   
“Where are you?” Den enquired.
“On the bus back, should be in Livigno about twenty minutes, you?”
“Still at M’eating Point with Rudi and Johannes.”
“Meeting point?”
“M’eating Point, it’s at the top of the Mottolini gondola, I guess we should head down.”
“Don’t rush for me.”
“Need to get back for dinner anyhow.”
“Mottolini, that’s the station by the coach park?”
“Yup,” Den agreed.
“I’ll meet you at the station, we can share a taxi.”
“Okay, see you in a bit.”
   
“Keeping tabs on your man?” Anne Marie suggested as I returned my mobile to my bag.
“Not really,” well not at all – and he’s not ‘my man’ either! “Just making sure he’s not got himself killed.”
“He’s likely to do that?”
“Not usually but I wouldn’t trust Rudi not to suggest something daft.”
“You German’s have strange humour,” she opined, “I’m not sure about these curls.”
Not half as much as me and my whole barnet.
“It looks great, Francois will love it.”
“François will not even notice,” she predicted.
   
“I’m going to wait for the guys to come down,” I told my companion as we disembarked from the bus.
“I should check that Francois hasn’t got himself arrested, you are coming to the Rusticana tonight?”
“Beats cooking,” I allowed, “see you later.”
“Ciao!”

Yeah, ciao. By the time I’d crossed the road the French woman had found a taxi and disappeared towards her hotel.
   
It was not far off dark when the gondola clanked and banged to a halt at the bottom station, exhuming a full load of skiers and sightseers.
“And that guy in yellow,” Rudi’s voice offered.
“Matched your bus,” Den returned before they came into view.

I was frozen, I might’ve been waiting inside the building but they aren’t exactly keen on heating the public areas. Not that wearing a dress helped any; I lost sensation in my hosed legs ten minutes after getting off the bus. At least my jacket was warm; I must look like Eskimo Nell with my hood pulled close around my face!

“Hi guys.”
“Nena, good day?” Rudi asked.
“Interesting.”
“Not spent too much I hope?” Den queried.
“My card is still intact at least,” I allowed, “you guys share a taxi?”
“No, we need stuff from the bus, we’ll see you at the restaurant?”
“We’ll be there,” Den stated, “I intend to collect on that beer!”
   
I sank onto my bed, “I am never wearing heels again!”
“Except when you have to,” Den suggested, “bathroom?”
“After you, I need coffee.”
   
Men don’t know they’re born, Den was showered and out before I was half way down my drink, “all yours.”
“Cheers, oh that bag on the top is yours.”
“Thanks.”

I slipped into the wet room at least the heated floor was thawing my blue feet. It’s funny how you adapt to things, I slipped my bra off and absently rubbed my shoulders. They might not be exactly stylish but the freebie shower cap at least saved getting my new do wet and the time drying and sorting it out afterwards. Yeah, I can’t wait to return to being Chris, just a couple more days and that’s it, haircut, lose the falsies, back to standing for a wee.
   
“Like the hair, miss,” one of our charges offered as I waited in the lobby for my dinner date.
“Danke,” I allowed.
“Very chic.”
I don’t know about Francois, Den hasn’t said anything about my new look either.
“Ready?” said miscreant enquired arriving from the lift.
“I have been waiting ten minutes,” I pointed out.
“Right,” he paused to concentrate on his jacket’s zip, “er thanks for the belt.”
Yeah, I didn’t forget to get him something in Bormio, there was a leatherwear place on the via Roma and he was going on about needing a new one, belt that is, on the way down.
“I think you got the better end of the deal.”
“Eh?” he offered before looking up, “you done something different with your hair?”
Finally.
“Bit of a trim.”
“Suits you, come on, Rudi owes me a pint.”
I won’t ask why.
   
I was dressed for comfort tonight, no stupid heels, dresses or overdone makeup – no, it’s snow boots, ski pants and my big jumper tonight. A few errant flakes of snow descended from the apparently clear sky above, how does that work? The party was in full swing when we reached the restaurant, Anne Marie, dolled up as usual cutting a rug with Francois whilst the rest of them cheered and jeered.

“Nena,” Rudi exclaimed, “no dress tonight?”
“Nope, it’s comfort tonight, it’s trying to snow out there.”
“Really?”
“Just a few flakes,” Den put in, “won’t come to anything.”
Well I’m not putting money on it either way.
   
It was a raucous evening, our last in resort although the others are here a day longer. No, BET don’t split the journey so we get to depart after the kids have eaten tomorrow night then drive through the night for a morning ferry. Yeah, living the dream – not!

I was a bit sad when we said our goodbyes, it might only be a few days since we all got together, a private club just for bus Fahrer, be that as it may, we’d all sort of clicked, a disparate group from around Europe all connected by our chosen profession. Sure, we might bump into each other again at some point but I won’t be Nena, which connection will have gone.
   
Whilst we aren’t leaving until about eight tonight, we still have to check out of our accommodation by ten, which is a bugger, I could’ve done with an afternoon snooze, stock up a few z’s before departure. Well I guess I’ll have to try the back seat, the crew bunk isn’t the most pleasant place and after the bus has been stood for a couple of days – cold. It’s no better for the passengers except of course they can sleep on the bus tonight, I might manage to grab a few minutes when Den takes over.

It’s not like we can do much during the day, our passengers are still skiing today, they’ll need to change afterwards so we can’t even load the luggage.

“Come on,” Den prompted, “let’s have a walk.”
“Really?”
“Not gonna get much chance until the ferry and that’s hardly exercise.”
“Guess not, I hate these overnights.”
“Who doesn’t, not as bad as the Spanish express’s mind.”
“There is that,” I agreed slipping my jacket on.
   
Last nights few flakes hadn’t come to anything but the forecast promised more this evening – joy. It did mean that our semi return to uniform wasn’t too uncomfortable, I say semi return, I am not wearing a short skirt in sub zero temperatures for anyone! I still had the blouse and I’d wear the jacket later but for now, jumper, trousers and ski jacket.

We hadn’t really looked around Livigno, food and my ski gear but not just stuff and it is supposed to be a duty free zone. That doesn’t mean everything is at knock down prices but the array of perfume and booze outlets gives a clue to some of the attraction. I got a big bottle of Chanel for Julia and a couple of bottles of spirits – well they were cheaper than the boat – Den had already secreted his purchases made whilst I was gallivanting with Anne Marie.

“We can put these on Betsy before we go back to the Federia,” I suggested as we waited for our coffee in one of the coffee and cake establishments.
“Sure,” Den agreed, “you’d best have this now.”
He slid a package across the table.
“What’s this?”
“You got me a present, returning the thought.”
“You didn’t need to,” I pointed out.
“Well I saw it, thought you might like it.”
It was a bracelet, bangle, not sure what the difference is, anyway it was very nice – for a woman.
“Thought it’d go with that dress you had on the other night,” he added.
“Er it’s lovely, thanks, you really shouldn’t’ve though.”
   
Mrs Fraser had her troops, I mean pupils, under control so when we returned to the Federia we were able to load up whilst they ate. Not that we’d gone hungry of course, after catching forty winks we had an early dinner, spag bol which would’ve gone down better with a beer but we had to make do with generic cola – just not the same. With full darkness came the white stuff, not heavy but enough to start coating the cleared roads and paths.

“Everyone handed in their keys Joanne Millin?” Mrs Fraser boomed down the bus.
Clearly not, to much jeering and cat calling the card key was found and passed to one of the chaperones to take to reception. I took my jacket off and got ready for departure as the snow swirled about outside. Last person back onboard, the door swung into place and with a plop sealed the nastiness outside. I released the handbrake and our journey was underway.
   
Den was soon catching the z’s; the passengers had quickly settled down once I lowered the lights, now, even with a full bus I’m pretty much alone. The radio hummed away as I peered into the darkness lost to my own thoughts. It never turned to blizzard but the snow tracked us northwards, just glad that we aren’t crossing passes tonight.

The bracelet slid along my wrist prompting a change of thought. I glanced at the snoring body across the bus, what is going on in that head? I’m not Nena, well I am but you know what I mean but ‘she’ has become a separate person to Chris in Den’s head.

Maybe others too, Bill addressed me as Nena when I rang the other day which is well weird as I wasn’t even using ‘her’ voice. Grrr, what am I doing, Nena isn’t real, I’m Chris. I caught my reflection in the mirror, the reflection of Nena, Nena with her spunky blonde hair, her perfect bosom. Damn! I slapped the steering wheel, this has got to stop.
   
© Maddy Bell 11.08.16