To say Camille was accident prone is a bit of an understatement. If there was a patch of ice to slip on or a bird dropping falling from the sky, you could be sure Camille would be the innocent victim of fate. Somehow she managed to carry on unfazed with a smile on her face. Anyway, one particular day always sticks in my mind as a perfect example of Camille getting the short straw in life. When we lived in St. Geoire we used to go skiing in the Alps all winter with the kids from nearby villages. Despite being situated in the Alps, ski trips would usually mean a very early start and a good few hours of driving before we reached the pristine peaks of Deux Alps or Avoriaz. Coming from London, skiing was fairly foreign to us city kids so our parents kitted us out with brand new gear to brave the slopes. All of us except Camille who scored a some second hand equipment from a friend of the family. So, 3 and a half hours later we pull up to the bottom of the ski slopes with tired eyes but keen to get going. The instructors told us to boot up and make our way across the white landscape to the ski lifts. Off we went with Camille following closely behind. One step "Crack". A binding on one of her boots broke. Oh well, there were three more firmly attached so no need to worry. Two steps in the deep snow "Crack! Crack!". Hmm... Three steps "CRACK!" My younger sister and I had already made the 100 or so yards to the ski lift and turned to see Camille far behind and at a stand still. The thermal shock of spending many years safely stowed away in a London airing cupboard and the crispy cold of fresh snow was too much for Camille's second hand boots to bear. After a few short strides in the snow, her boots had literally exploded into a million pieces. All that remained were the inner socks. Our ski instructor was already getting people on the ski lift and didn't notice Camille's poor predicament. With an awkward smile, Camille told us to go on ahead whilst the dozing coach driver handed her an old plastic bag for her broken boots and sent her in the direction of the nearest cafe. We had just driven for several hours to get to the slopes and no-one was going to head back anytime soon so whilst my younger sister and I got our first taste of powder puff snow, Camille waited it out with a lait chaud and a plastic bag full of broken plastic.