Knocking about . . .

LOTS of my mates, most of ‘em the posher end, to be honest, the people who live in Saddleworth, go skiing and many have, over the years, asked me to join their jolly jaunts and japes.

Hurtling down a snow-covered mountain at breakneck speeds on a pair of slick gliding boards isn’t something I ever contemplated, with any serious intent, to be honest.

Yet there I was, over the festive break, doing just that in Les Brevieres, in the French Alps, and I have survived to tell this tale. Mind you, my knees are still complaining.

I was invited by a young lady of my acquaintance to sample the delights of Christmas in a chalet with ten complete strangers - well, to be fair, only eight as two of my friend’s pals were in our mini-group - and purely in the spirit of research for this pioneering column I took up the challenge.

After a crash course at the Chill Factore at Dumplington, where I was ceremoniously dumped on my derrière on a number of occasions, I kitted myself with sellapettes and other warm stuff from TK Maxx and off I jetted with the jet set.

Paying £9.80 for two bottles of Evian water at Geneva Airport set the alarm bells a’ringing but your intrepid correspondent battled on towards the white stuff on the slopes around Tignes, one of the highest resorts in the French Alps.

Ski school for me and the Grand Motte for everyone else was the order of day one and I have to say I took to skiing like a duck to landing on a frozen Alexandra Park lake. Have you ever watched the ducks trying to land on ice? Pop along to the canal at Uppermill this weekend and you’ll get the picture.

Luckily, I was hidden among other novices and my gangling style was in keeping with the rest of the group although our ever-patient instructor Julian, a genial French physiotherapy student from Lyons, did try to install some sense of Gallic bravado into my unique gait. Without noticeable success, I have to report.

By the end of lesson one I was in dire need of a beer and lunch which set me back £22.50 for a herb omelette and French fries plus a large beer. Thereafter I stacked up an brekkie, sacked the lunch and stuck with the beer which, at £6.50 a pint wasn’t cheap but the euro exchange rate was a disaster for everyone from the UK.

My scariest moment came from my first trip on the chairlift which takes skiers and boarders to the Alpine village of Les Broilles. No one told me there was a safety bar and I clung on for dear life as I swayed and sweated to the top in minus temperatures . . .

By the end of the week, and after a private lesson with my good friend from Austerlands on Christmas day afternoon, I was actually skiing down a red run (be impressed, please) from the top of the drag lift without falling over.

My knees and thigh muscles were still screaming but I had a sense of achievement, of accomplishment.

I cannot let this account of skiing debut pass without mention of the apres ski, which is basically boozing at the end of a day’s skiing. We oft - ok, always - found ourselves in Vincent’s Bar, and we had a ball. Should you ever find yourself in this most marvellous of taverns, I heartily recommend the toffee vodka, frugel, vanilla vodka and Tequila rose shots. In fact, all the shots.

I am deeply indebted to my friends, the Lady Dowager of Austerlands, and Jo and Paul from Marsden for getting me home in one piece, much to the surprise of everyone in the office.

So it’s with a French song in my heart that I wish you all Happy New Year from Mumps via Les Brevieres.