I love my children dearly but they are seldom more annoying than when they’re talking about skiing; how much they love hurling themselves down black runs, before immediately re-telling the story of the time even our ski instructor took to calling me Mum, followed by “Hurry up, Mum,” and then, unfortunately, “Where’s Mum?”.
It’s all very well being kids who learned how to ski young – it took my kids about three hours while I’ve never quite mastered it. So when the chance came to leave them and their over-confidence behind and go back to basics with like-minded friends who appreciate that a wise mind will try and stay at the top of a steep slippery slope rather than speed headfirst down it, I grabbed it.
