Four years ago I went on a winter sports holiday to Canada and I have never had a worse time. In retrospect, it was comically bad. I loved the social scene, the clothes, the climate; it was just the sport that I was terrible at, despite having the luxury of my own personal instructor. My tutor, a 20-year-old 'pro-boarder' took me up on the drag lift after only an hour on the slopes. Obviously, I fell off into the path of other beginners on the lift, floundered around in the snow, couldn't get my feet out of the bindings and they had to stop the lift. Cue 30 pissed-off beginners. Oh the shame!
And it got worse. I was simply terrible at snowboarding. I spent most of the time sitting in the snow, and on the odd occasion I did manage to stand up, I careered down the slopes at breakneck speed, frantically motioning for people to get out of my way. I couldn't turn so the only way I was able to stop was by falling over. Six hours of lessons was all I managed before I threw in the proverbial towel after bruising my coccyx, tearing my shoulder muscle and denting my pride.
I spent the rest of my three weeks getting drunk in the ski lodge, nursing my bruises and waiting for my partner to return from his heli-boarding excursions and vowing never to take a winter sports holiday again.
Which is why, when I was offered a place on a new course for 'Scaredy Cat Skiers', it took me three days to make up my mind. Yes, I was a scaredy cat, but it wasn't as simple as that. It's a bit like when you start a new job and you struggle to do the basics - work the photocopier or use the fax machine. With skiing, simple matters such as standing up, stopping and turning all become very hard. Did I want to spend three days feeling like an idiot? Maybe I was just one of those people who can't ski.
After arriving at Val d'Isere in the French Alps, I slipped over before we even reached the chalet. I was wearing high heeled boots (I know, I know), but I felt sure that this was to be a recurring theme of the trip.
Our home was Chalet Eleanor, run by a company called Snowline VIP. Here, Rob, Ben and Alice devoted themselves to making us feel looked after and cosseted. They would wake us up with a cup of tea in bed in the morning, cook us the breakfast of our choice, bake us a cake for our return from the slopes and serve us Kir Royales and canapes before dinner in the evening. We also had a driver, Phil, on hand to ferry us to and from the slopes.
My nerves began on the first night when Pierre, the man behind Oxygene ski-school and the brains behind 'Scaredy Cat Skiing', came to the chalet to get an idea of our abilities. I took a self-deprecating tack, saying that I simply couldn't ski 'because I was rubbish'. This did not go down well with the ever-optimistic Pierre, who informed me in his broad French accent that there was no physical reason why I couldn't ski ('you have eyes, ears, two legs, why shouldn't you be able to ski?') and that I needed to have a more positive attitude. Pierre should know. He has taught thousands of people to ski and 'Scaredy Cat Skiing' was inspired by his wife, also an unconfident skier.
The next day, bright and oh-so-very-early, we were out on the slopes. Well, we weren't exactly on the slopes: two other beginners from the group and I were rather on the flat, what with us being 'debutantes'. My knees were shaking and I was filled with fear but we played games in our skis, skidded around, raced each other - all activities designed to warm us up and raise our confidence levels. I was the only person who had never set foot in a pair of skis, but after an hour-and-a-half, all three of us were confidently going half-way up the nursery slope on the drag lift and practising the infamous snowplough.
Pierre held our hands, called us 'sweetheart' and gave us all the support and encouragement we could wish for. Of course, the ubiquitous four-year-olds were racing down the slopes more confidently than we were, but I didn't care. I was having fun on the ski slopes for the first time in my life and I hadn't fallen over once.
Lunchtime came and went, we filled up on vin chaud and in the afternoon we had a different teacher, Nathalie. Nathalie was the bad cop. She took us to the top of the nursery slopes, made us get off the drag lift on our own and showed us how to turn. We all started falling over. I didn't particularly bond with Nathalie, a feeling that was cemented when she took us on the chair lift up to a much steeper slope and would only tell us how to get off once we were in the air. This wasn't much fun, especially as it was now snowing a blizzard, but after two-and-a-half hours, I have to admit that we were all markedly better skiers. Nathalie pushed us hard, but it was what we needed. In the evening, while sampling some of Val's infamous nightlife, I felt pleased with what I had achieved and was actually looking forward to getting back out the next day, which is something I hadn't expected.
Day two was much like day one, except that one member of our group, who had skied before, felt confident enough to leave our class and ski some more adventurous runs, which is a testament to the lessons. The one remaining member of our group and I carried on practising our turns with another teacher, Gavin. We mastered the art of the parallel turn, albeit while making arms like an aeroplane much to the amusement of the other people on the slopes, and went on the chair lift several times. I really couldn't have imagined I would be able to do the things I was doing and be having so much fun. I fantasised about going down the black run doing a massive snow-plough from top to bottom, just for a laugh, but Gav said 'no way'.
In the afternoon we were left to our own devices and instead of going straight to the bar, we went up on the lifts on our own to practise our skiing. Then it started to snow. A lot. I zoomed down the mountain at about 100 miles an hour and fell over spectacularly in a tangle of skis.
So we adjourned to the famous apres-ski haunt Bananas, where I experienced the best chat-up line ever - from a man who asked if I would like to go and roll in the snow with him. We were obviously well matched, he said as we both loved skiing. I told him, actually, I hated it, then realised I didn't really mean it any more.
So it seemed that Pierre was right. Almost everyone possesses the ability to ski; the key ingredient is having the confidence. And that's what 'Scaredy Cat Skiing' gives you. I'm already booking my next trip.
Essentials
Snowline (08701 123 118; snowline.co.uk) offers seven nights at Chalet Elena, Val d'Isère (sleeps 12), from £529 per person. All Snowline holidays include return flights from Gatwick, transfers, delicious cuisine and ski guiding. The three-afternoon Scaredy Cat Skiing course costs from €140 per person (based on six people in a group).
