Blatant discrimination…

Don’t worry, this is not a tale of anti-British behaviour. No-one has taken us to task over Brexit. We have not been refused entry to anywhere just because we share a nationality with Nigel Farage. So calm yourself dear reader and read on safe in the knowledge that there are absolutely no scenes of mild (or otherwise) distress in today’s post.

Mr P, a shadow of his former self

Today is a rest day which is a good job as Mrs P has picked up a rotten cold. How does that even happen? Wouldn’t it be fascinating if you were able to look back and see exactly where you picked up a cold? Was it from the man who served us bratwurst? Had he not washed his hands properly? Did Mrs P inadvertently rub her eye having been near the coughing man? Can boot camp give you a cold? Can you catch a cold from a glacier? (Glaciers are cold, catch a cold. Geddit?… oh, please yourself!)

Either way, the poor lamb is feeling like that famous non-existent cartoon character that I just made up, Snot filled the Bogeyman. For my American readers a bogey, in this instance, is neither a golf score nor an imaginary evil spirit but a piece of dried mucus that comes from inside your nose. (Noun. British; informal). Too much information? I think so.

Mrs P, off to find some tissues. (The Ortler in the background is 3,905 m high and on our to do list).

Anyway, she’s not a happy bunny so it’s a good job today is a rest day.

So, lets move on to discriminatory happenings…

We moved to a nearby and considerably cheaper campsite today.

Camping im Park, in Glurns (Trust me, I’m not making these names up.)

It is lovely and less than half the price of last night’s stay.

Anyway, this sorry (1st World problem) tale concerns a conversation that took place on arrival at the campsite with a delightful girl on reception, whose English incidentally, was probably better than mine (in my defence, I am half Brummie, half Canadian). Let’s call her DGOR cos we all love a good acronym.

DGOR: “The showers are 50 cents. Ladies get four minutes, men get three…”

German man behind me (GMBM) laughing: “Well that’s just discrimination.”

I have to admit that I agreed with him whole heartedly.

DGOR: “It’s not discrimination. Women have long hair.”

GMBM and I shared a glance, both far from hirsute we conceded that we could only agree with her on this point. Where’s Russell Brand when you need him? (Now that’s not a sentence I ever thought I would write.)

Anyway, lovely campsite apart from the discrimination. #baldist

Fingers crossed that Mrs P is feeling better soon. There are mountains to climb for heavens sake.

Glurns, the smallest town in South Tyrol.

We head out for a gentle ride into Glurns (see photo above). It is advertised on their website as, ‘…the smallest town in South Tyrol where little has changed since the 16th century.” This obviously does not include the 80 foot crane in the photo but does include their attitude to visitors. Don’t get me wrong, they are a very friendly bunch but, obviously believe that your average visitor is likely to die of bubonic plague before they find the information centre so why bother with any signs?

Anyway. Early night as we are off to see Ötzi tomorrow. We first met him in 2006. Very excited…

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