Shit.

Perhaps it would win an Academy Award fro best screenplay, but when these things happen in real life, they're not one hundreth as exciting.

The minute I got on the bus that was to take me to a chalet in the Giant Mountaints and sat down, I realised I'd forgotten to arrange something. Nothing easier than to send a message to one of my friends from Prague, eh?

The answer was slightly alarming. 'Sorry, can't help. Am in hospital, fell when climbing, dunno when back.'

Well, there you are, I thought. A Czech proverb speaks about going to the well with a jug so long that the handle falls off. She was supposed to spend a week in the Alps, climbing - her favourite pastime. And now she's in hospital with a broken ankle. Life likes irony.

The rest of the week passed peacefully. Sunshine. Catkins against the glitter of the snow cover. One boy fell into a creek next to the ski slope and another two got drunk in the evening and shouted rude words at the teachers. But all in all, an exceptionally soft job.

On Sunday morning, the sun was shining still. On my way to church I met a friend of mine in the underground. We chatted a bit and then I mentioned our injured friend. 'Oh yes, tough luck. And then Frank, of course.' 'Frank?' That was the leader of the group that had gone to the Alps. 'What's wrong with him?' 'Oh, you don't know, then...'

After my friend was rushed to hospital, the three other members of the expedition started searching for a replacement. They addressed many of our common friends, until they found a young man no one in our circles knew. The four set off. Arrived to the destination in Austria. The next day they started climbing, having chosen a relatively easy and safe route. Everything went according to plan. Sunshine. Glittering snow...

The one thing they hadn't planned was the avalanche. Frank got caught by the mass and had to be taken to Linz by alpine rescue service. It might take a year until this strong athlete will walk again. Two others survived with minor injuries.

Had my friend not broken her ankle only some four days before, she'd have been dead. As it is, this happened to be the fate of the fourth climber. We'll never get to know him now.

These stories. You wouldn't think of them. But they do happen. I remember a moment in Loch Arthur, when I had to tell Andy and Mireille about the death of an exceptional old lady. I can still see Andy's petrified face and hear his voice. All he uttered was one word. The only word that could retain any meaning at such a moment.

'Shit.'