ski saturday

I have never, before today, skied. It's not my bag - I don't quite know what my bag is, but skiing has never been it. Skiing is for families that can afford skiing holidays. My family holidays were always more 'caravan - centric' than those on the piste; picnics on drab beaches, donkey rides, vomit-reeking cabaret halls, that sort of thing. So when I was given the chance to try skiing, Slovakian style, I thought it was about time to strap on my skis and get going.

To begin with, it was a bit chilly.  An arse-clenching, -10C chilly. Also, I was dangerously underdressed for the occasion. I'm from England, an extra sweater is all you ever need. It's cold? Oh, put on an extra sweater. So there we are: a few hundred trendy looking Slovaks decked out with the latest in sub-zero ski wear zipping about, and me in an extra sweater. Oh, and women's long johns (the local cheapo clothes shop didn't stretch to real men's thermal underwear). Undeterred, I took a deep breath, shivered a bit, and took my first step into the skiing world.

We found the ski school and booked an hour with an instructor. A really suave attractive, chiseled chin, eyes-you-could-get-lost-in instructor. He didn't fall on his arse once the whole time. Well, he did, but only to show the spread-eagled spaz (me) how to stand up again. To be fair to the spread-eagled spaz, I only fell on my arse a few times. And over an hour, that's like 0.2 embarrasing moments a minute. I would show Mr Impossibly Attractive who was the best skiing guy.

I didn't show him. I barely mastered going down a baby slope quite slowly without looking too ridiculous. He had just came back from skiing in the Alps and could probably ski down avalanches. And I bet he was wearing proper men's underwear.

By the end of the lesson, after a few up and downs on the baby slope I was feeling pretty good. I could technically ski, I hadn't fallen over that much and only three of my toes and one of my fingers were numb. Afterwards, we went to the cafe and got ourselves a hot wine and some lángos (bread and garlicy sauce) to celebrate. My girlfriend admitted although Mr Ski Man was dashing, dynamic and super cool, she had made the right life choices. I wiped the mayonnaise off my chin and jacket and agreed with her.