Entertained by two fiddlers

Back to the Key Theatre yesterday - not been for 18 years and now I'm back twice in a week!

This time, we were to see cellist Julian Lloyd Webber and his wife Jiaxin. She may be wife Mk II or even Mk III, she's a good bit younger than he is. She's Chinese and they met (I guess) as two professional cellists.

The performance was those two, plus a pianist and the style was quite unusual. They played short pieces written for voice or other instruments, so it was more the style of a vocal recital, rather than a string quartet.

We were blessed with seats on the second row, right in the middle, so Lloyd Webber was pretty much directly in front of us. It's something of a privilege to be able to sit 12 feet from a world-class cellist playing a 350-year-old Stradivarius.

Some of the bow movements are so slow and precise that you can barely see it move and it glides from string to string almost imperceptibly. Their left hands were much busier most of the time.

The cello really is a beautiful instrument. It looks gorgeous, the sound it makes is sublime and the player has to embrace it to play it, so man and instrument become almost as one.

We had a terrific evening and the Key was pretty full. There were a few spaces, but not many. Julian Lloyd Webber had been wandering around the bar at the beginning of the evening (I think checking where he would do his CD signings after the show) and then couldn't get through the locked door backstage. He asked one of the young ushers to open the door for him and she asked him if he was part of the show. Classic - that's Peterborough for you Julian!

Update (8.5.14): We now realise how lucky we were to have seen Julian Lloyd Webber play. In the past week, he has announced his retirement from all performances due to a problem with his neck. It's a condition that has been getting worse and worse. Peterborough might not have been his final performance, but it was desperately close,

A couple of swingers

Now that I have retired, it's been a good opportunity to get out a little more.

I haven't been to the Key Theatre - Peterborough's only theatre - since Tom was in Smike (a school musical) in his first year at King's School. That's about 18 years ago!

It's a good job the theatre doesn't depend on the likes of me to keep going.

Well, I hope to be able to go to the theatre more regularly in the future and I've booked up a number of shows, the first being a show called Swinging at the Cotton Club – which was billed as a recreation of the dance and music from the famous American club of the 1920s.

It sounded quite good and we had a pretty nice evening. There was a live band - Harry Struthers' Hot Rhythm Orchestra, who all looked over 70, but did a pretty good job - and a dance group called the Jiving Lindy Hoppers (two men and three women), plus a tap dancer and a woman singer. There's a video here:  

There was Lindy Hop, Charleston and tap and it was good clean fun (as they say). The band was unusual in that there was no bass player, instead the rhythm came from a massive sousaphone, which must have been a challenge to hold, let alone blow, for the white-haired chap playing it.

The best part of the evening came right at the end. A chap dressed in Teddy Boy gear had sat in front of us. He'd been hugely enthusiastic all the way through the show, almost to the point of being annoying. In the last number, the Lindy Hoppers came down into the audience to grab people to take up on stage to jive. The last time I jived, I missed a crucial grab with my partner and she almost demolished the DJ's turntables by crashing into them, so perhaps it's as well I wasn't asked. The Teddy Boy, sitting at the end of the front row, was a shoo in, but when he got up on stage, he was the most unco-ordinated jiver you could imagine. He was so bad, the professional left him to it and went to find someone else. The Ted grabbed his wife/partner, pulled her on stage and she was even worse than him!

I've taken up yoga

I've taken up yoga. It was always my plan to do so when I retired (I thought it would be a good way to help me to remain supple, or even to get more supple).

Sam was extolling the benefits of yoga when we were in France and he demonstrated a few moves for us – Warrior seems to be his favourite – and he made a convincing case. When we got back, my sister had left a note about the yoga class she attends, which was starting up again for a six-week run this week.

It’s organised by Peterborough branch of the University of the Third Age (U3A) and so we needed to join that before we could go. Margaret seemed very grumpy about me joining and was grumbling about mixing with too many old people, getting old before my time and octogenarians. I’ve also joined the Family History Group as well and that caused a new round of grumbling (I think she’s getting old).

Anyway, on Wednesday this week, we had our first yoga class. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but turned up in my tracksuit ready for action. Sister Margaret had promised me there would be no chanting ...

So I find myself lying on the floor at Eastfield Community Centre, eyes closed, feeling my breathing, not controlling it, just feeling the breaths coming in and going out; I’m supposed to be able to feel my diaphragm, my weight against the floor. I’m asked to imagine myself on a beach, the sun is warm, there’s a warm breeze blowing ... I’m finding it hard to forget I’m in Eastfield Community Centre, but I’m doing my best.

I should feel the power of the sun flowing unto me, the strength of the sea and the sand (since when has sand been strong). I’m feeling a bit silly, but everyone else seems happy enough ...

Much to my disappointment, we don’t start with Warrior; we start by lying on the floor and trying to stretch ourselves out, I learn to stretch out my heels, which pulls my calf muscles and I also find that I can’t get my right arm above my head and flat on the floor. I’m not sure why, but it’s been stiff for some time.

Step 2 is to pull up your legs and let them down while breathing in and out. I don’t think I’m going to be very good at yoga because when I bring my legs up I forget to breathe out or else find I’m breathing in halfway through – who would have thought synchronising your breathing with lifting your legs would be quite so hard!

Still lying on your back, we next had to bring our legs up, then move them over to one side, knees together and at the same time turn your head in the opposite direction. Now I could feel some serious stretching happening.

Next, we had to do the Bridge. Lie down, pull you heels up and (keeping your back straight) lift your bum off the floor. There were also some instructions about when to breathe in and out (which are probably important) but I couldn’t get them in my head and now I’ve completely forgotten. I quite liked the Bridge, it’s not as spectacular as Warrior, but (again) I could feel some stretching going on, which is good.

That was enough lying down for one day. Next exercise was to sit, pull one leg in at right angles, placing the sole of your foot on the opposite inner thigh. I could do that! We then had to stretch the other leg and move your head and arms (straight back) to touch the toe on the extended leg. Having achieved that (breathing out when I should have been breathing in) it was time to change legs. Again, definite stretching being achieved.

The last exercise (before we had a final lie-down) was to stand up, stand on one leg with the other leg raised and the sole of your foot on the calf of the supporting leg. You them raise your arms above your head, palms together and bring them down into a prayer. It’s harder than you think to stand on one leg, harder still to do it and breathe!

Well I quite enjoyed my first yoga class and next day I could tell I had been stretching. I wasn’t stiff, but I was aware of muscles that I didn’t ordinarily think much about.

I think Margaret enjoyed it too. She hasn’t said anything mean about U3A since the class, even when I goaded her with a story about my Family History friend Roger asking me if I was interested in joining the Railway group.

Why are modern cars so complicated?

My car (BMW 520d) got me to France and back without incident, another 1600 miles on the clock, but it has not been running right for about six months.

It’s in the garage now to try to sort out a problem where it will sometimes almost stall when pulling away or fail to pick up when you put your foot down.

It’s had new glow-plugs, the particulate filter checked and now may need a throttle position sensor or mass air-flow sensor replacing (we’re not sure which, both or neither).

Older cars were less reliable but more resilient – instead of a throttle position sensor, you’d have a cable connecting the pedal to the carburettor; now it’s a drive by wire connection to the fuel-injection system.

When something goes wrong, it’s a holy mess trying to find out the cause and, instead of a £15 throttle cable, it’s probably a £200 sensor.

I’m getting to the stage with this BMW that, if it’s not sorted out soon, I feel like just scrapping the bloody thing. This is its fifth day in the garage this year and it’s still there – six days tomorrow!

Update (20.2.14): Still not sorted, but four sensors on order - throttle position sensor, mass air sensor, engine temperature sensor and outside temperature sensor. They should be delivered tomorrow or Saturday and the car is back in next Tuesday to have them fitted.

Update 2 (6.3.14): Hooray, the car is back to normal. All the parts arrived last week, so Andy Bunyan took the car on Monday to fit them. There was a slight hitch with the wrong throttle position sensor being supplied, but the correct one was re-ordered and arrived the next day. I now have the car back and it's running perfectly. I haven't had the bill yet, but it's looking around £600 (if I'd taken it to a BMW garage, it would be more like £1,600).

Update 3 (24.3.14): The car is back with Andy. After it came back, the radio wasn't working. I thought it was a disturbed wire under the bonnet. Andy says it is a broken wire running into the tailgate, which is why the rear wiper, rear window catch and reversing light are also not working (the radio aerial is the heated rear window). Apparently this broken wire is a common problem on BMW Touring models (estates). It's a simple fix (new bit of wire) but it's a right royal bugger to get to.

Update 4 (28.3.14): Andy Bunyan replaced the wiring and I now have working rear wiper, etc. However, the central locking isn't working and the car won't open without using the key. This means that to unlock the car you have to dismantle the key fob, pull out the hard key, open the door (which sets off the alarm), then push the key into the ignition (which silences the alarm). Andy wondered if the battery might be out in the fob, but I know that something funny is going on because the on-board computer resets itself every time your start up.

Update 5 (31.3.14): So to give Andy the benefit of the doubt, I thought I'd replace the battery in the key fob. Now, you wouldn't think something like a battery could be so complicated! Google BMW key fob battery and you get back a mass of contradictory advice - some people say you can replace the battery, others say it's a sealed unit and it recharges itself automatically. I found a video on YouTube where a man replaces the battery in a 5-Series. It looked easy and the battery was the same as I'd just bought for the kitchen scales, but when I tried to follow the instructions, it was clear that our key fobs (although they looked identical) were different. His had a replaceable battery and would come apart; mine was a sealed unit. BMW UK and BMW USA obviously have different batteries. I called the parts department at Sycamore (the Peterborough BMW dealer). These are always pretty good (in fact the whole garage is pretty good, just massively expensive) and they said the key fob is sealed, it does recharge in the car, but they could supply a replacement key fob for £150.

Update 6 (2.4.14): The key was there next day and I had to take along my passport and registration document in order to get the key. It didn't work. The parts man called one of the engineers, who said it looked as if the central locking unit, which was sited near the tailgate, had been damaged. He said they sometimes suffered from water damage on estate models.

Update 7 (9.4.14): Have we finally made it? Andy took the car back. He said the central locking unit was water damaged. He repaired it and resealed it and it now works. The computer is also not resetting itself every time. Fingers crossed!

My last day in Sammy Ski School

My ski instructor on the booze again. Does he drink
because I'm such a bad pupil, or am I bad
because my teacher is a drunk?

After three days without skiing, for reasons of weather and other holiday plans, it was good to get on the slopes again.

And, following what I felt was a good day’s skiing on Tuesday, I was keen to see if my improvement had been temporary or fixed in my memory bank. We started from Les Arcs 1600 with the usual trip up Cachette, then down Belvedere to Arcs 1800, down again to Vallandry via Foret and Liaison Grizzly.

It was up the Grizzly chairlift then down the upper part of Foret to join the dreaded Renard, my nemesis from the previous week. I was feeling confident that Renard would not hold for me the thigh-burning horrors it had and, in fairness, I accomplished the run far more confidently than previously, but it was still a real challenge, it still required a rest midway through and I was relieved to see the end.

Teacher Sam says it is my fault for not executing proper turns, for leaning back and for not practising sufficient squats during December and January.

It seems I am still turning in the snowplough all or part of the time and teacher No 2 in Sammy Ski School, Lucy Rayner (the bad cop of this combo) said I needed a bit of down/up on the turns – get jumping, hadn’t Ski School Sammy told me that. She followed up by banning my regular escape route, Gollet, which has joined Route Des Animaux and my childhood teddies as a thing of the past.

There was nothing for it but to head back up Derby for 2300 (the big, wide bowl) and practise getting the turns properly parallel. Ski School Sam (or SS Sam for short) thought the best way for me to do this was to work on my skid stop. It was mastering that technique that was the breakthrough moment when he was learning to ski, so it seemed logical I should also break something ...

Actually, after a couple of badly executed skid stops, I did seem to have gained more control. I wasn’t stopping, but I was feeling my edges better and if it wasn’t a full parallel turn, then I was getting into the parallel much more quickly.

After a run of that, I was ready for a drink and a break, so we went back up 2300 and down to the cafe on the right. The route down seemed quite steep, but OK and when we arrived Sam said I’d skied a bit of a red (Perdrix). It was only a bit, but good for confidence. After half a Kit-Kat and a lemon tea, it was time for more skiing.

I wanted Foret, Maitaz and Gollet, but Gollet isn't allowed any more; so we went a little way down Foret, back up the Derby lift to pick up the Transarc 47 cable car to Col de la Chal at 2600 metres. On Derby, I got squeezed into the children’s seat at one end and melting snow was dripping off the chair’s arm onto my shoulder and arm. Sam and Lucy thought it was hilarious that a) I’d ended up in the child’s seat and b) I was getting dripped on. I was glad to get off the lift and on the run down to the Transarc, the water on my jacket froze, so I had a big patch of frost on my shoulder.

Warming up by the fire - it doesn't look much, but it was toasty!

From Col de la Chal, we took the blue run and Plan des Eaux to the bottom of Arcabulle lift, met Lucy and then skied down past 2000 and 1950 via Vallee de l'Arc to the bottom of Comborciere. Here, I was promised a restaurant/bar with a large, open fire and I wasn’t disappointed. The restaurant is called Le Chalet Du Pre St. Esprit and it has a big, open fire in the middle of the bar. There's a short video here. We were able to warm up, have a drink and then, with the snow falling, it was the slow haul up Comborciere then down Mont Blanc to pick up Belvedere and Arpette back to Arc 1600. This was a long day skiing for me – probably further than I’d skied in any other day – and I was pretty glad to be done. I need to work on turns and skid stops, but I think I’ve made progress this holiday and when I’m back in April, I should be starting from a better level of fitness and skill. We finished the day with tartiflette (always a winner).

A short walk in the snow

On the path down to La Rosiere - that's me (lower
down) and Sam. Lucy is the photographer.

There has not been a huge amount of snow in the Tarentaise valley so far this year, but this past week has seen a couple of snowy days and, today, it was snowing quite hard and steadily. It wasn’t too cold at our altitude, but it was sticking and building up. In the ski resorts 500 metres higher, this would be a great day for them – give the snow cannons a bit of a rest.

We were not that sure we’d get down to Bourg by car (well, we’d get down after a fashion, but not dead sure of getting back up again).

We decided that we’d walk down to Bourg and do a few jobs – get some money, put stamps on postcards, get some bread ... it was more to get out for some fresh air than anything else. I suggested we walk down into La Rosiere, so Sam, Lucy and I set off. The snow was quite deep, but not frozen so hard that you couldn’t get a heel dug in on the way down. Further down the path, it was actually quite wet and boggy and that was slippery. We would have found those snowshoes quite useful. I’d borrowed Margaret’s cagoule, so I was waterproofed against sleet. We were soon down in Bourg and soon completed the few jobs.

I really liked the machine in the post office for buying stamps. You tell the machine where the package or letter is going, you weigh it and the machine prints out a post credit. Stick it on, stick it in the postbox - simples!

Sam thought the La Rosiere route might be a bit slippery going back up so we decided to walk up through the town, join the Villaret road and walk up the hairpins. It was sleeting thickly in the town, but it turned back to snow as we gained height. It was actually a fairly quick walk and a couple of cars passed us making careful progress.

On the way up the hairpins, we met the snowplough coming back down and dumping snow in piles at the outer edge of the bends. It’s an impressive machine, a four-wheel drive tractor with massive wheels shod with thick chains. It makes a heck of a din (as I found out at 5am a few days ago). We might have been swept up and dumped with the snow, but the driver had seen us and pulled across so we could walk by. I think if I was in Villaret for a year, I’d get very good at walking up steep hills!

A day in Grenoble

This holiday wasn’t just about skiing because a) my legs would probably not last the distance and b) Margaret is not a skier, so it would be a bit of a miserable time for her if we disappeared all day, every day.

At the start of the holiday, I bought a book of 10 tickets which can be exchanged for a day ski pass and the plan was to use five this holiday and five the next. It works out at £355 for the book so £35 per day, which is an OK saving on a day-rate and gives you a bit of flexibility.

We’d been promised decent weather on Thursday, 6 February, so we’d agreed to visit Grenoble. Sam and Lucy had been there in January to pick up Lucy’s mum from the airport and said it was a nice place. They’d wanted to visit the Bastille, which overlooks the town but the cable car service was suspended for annual maintenance and there wasn’t time to walk up the steep hill.

The sunny weather in Bourg-Saint-Maurice didn’t hold as far down as Grenoble and it was a little dull with a chilly wind, but perfectly OK for a wander (as long as you kept moving). I’d been to Grenoble maybe 25 years ago on a car launch and I remember quite a snowy day and a city in a great bowl between mountains. That’s pretty much it, although the city will have expanded a bit since then.

It sits on a flat plain surrounded by high mountains. In the ice age, the site was towards the end of a large glacier and, as the ice melted, the valley became dammed and a long lake formed. It’s the floor of this former lake which the town is now built on. The Isere river, which runs through Bourg, flows down into Grenoble and makes a much wider river those 70 miles or so downstream.

Scenery on the journey down is spectacular and, once in Grenoble, we parked up in the museum car park, a multi-storey with the narrowest of ramps and smallest of spaces. We left the back end of the BMW hanging out by a foot or so (I think the place was designed with the Renault 5/Clio in mind). From there it was a short walk to the cable-car station and a spectacular (some might say scary) ride up to the Bastille.

As fortresses go, this was a strange one. It dominates the town and the valley and you get magnificent views, you can even see Mont Blanc quite clearly (and that must be about 100 miles distant). It’s a modern fort (well late 19th century) and most of its firepower is not directed at the valley and town, but behind the fort up to the slope of the mountain upon which it’s built. The defence plan identified the weak point as the mountain and so most guns point in that direction. There’s even a sneaky set of fire points in the mountainside above the fort, linked by a tunnel to the fort, where soldiers could snipe at besiegers. You can walk down the tunnel and around the walls into the gate of the fortress.

Panorama shots by Lucy on her iPhone

The Bastille was never besieged, soon after it was built Savoy became part of France and the threat from Italy moved further away to higher Alpine passes.

Grenoble has a history of science (there's an Ave Charles Darwin in recognition of the botanist) and geologists based here played a key role in understanding the formation of the Alps and interpreting the abundant evidence for folding and upthrusts of rock strata. You get a great view of magnificent folds in the surrounding mountains where glaciation has scraped valley sides sheer and given what amounts to a cross section of strata. It's no wonder the place spawned a number of famous French geologists.

We’d thought we might have lunch at the restaurant in the Bastille, but it was too cold to sit on the terrace and enjoy the view, so we reasoned, we’d get a better meal in the old town. The cable car ride down is quite exciting/scary depending upon your point of view. I'd decided to video it and, as you can see here, Margaret made a bit of a fuss! She says I’m mean for putting this up; I say she’s spoiled my nice video.

Safely back on terra firma, we walked into the heart of the old town through a nice park to the church of St Andre, an old brick-built church with public squares both sides and a nearby restaurant where we had a pretty good lunch.

Afterwards, we had a short walk around. Because Grenoble is surrounded by mountains, like Chamonix, you can turn into a street and find a mountain filling your view. It gives an interesting perspective to the city.

There are lots of references to Napoleon in Grenoble, including restaurants and a hotel where he stayed. On March 1, 1815, Napoleon landed at Golfe-Juan, between Cannes and Antibes, having escaped from Elba. A more obvious place to land would have been the valley of the Rhone river. From there the march to Paris would have been far easier and a lot faster, but he feared the royalist sentiments of the inhabitants of that region so he took the more difficult road through the Alps to Grenoble.

On March 7, 1815 his small Imperial column met the 5th Regiment of the Line, not far from Grenoble. Napoleon stepped forward and faced the muskets alone. With remarkable bravado and by using his charisma, he managed to win over the regiment. With the cry: "Vive L'Empéreur" the 5th changed sides as one man. The gates of Grenoble opened and the Napoleon received a warm welcome. Perhaps they appreciated the future tourism kudos a hotel could command with a “Napoleon was here” plaque above the door.

Of course, in June (just three months later) he met Wellington for the first time in battle at Waterloo (and received another warm welcome), but modern Grenoble makes the most of his short stay in the city.

A gourd for the Virgin Mary

Margaret, Sam and Lucy at Chapel St Michel

No skiing today, but it didn't seem like a good idea to sit around doing nothing. Sam and Lucy said they were going to walk up to the Chapel St Michel, the weather was OK, but snow was forecast and there was plenty of snow lying on the path.

Margaret wasn't keen on the walk up to the Chapel, but I suggested we walk as far as the shrine to the Virgin Mary, which is a good walk, but about two-thirds of the way to the chapel. I suggested we leave one of the gourds as an offering. We walked on the farm tracks, rather than the pilgrims' path and met the horses a bit higher up. They moved onto the track as we approached in the hope of a tasty treat, but we had nothing for them. Sam had an apple, but there was one apple and two horses, so he (perhaps wisely) kept it in his pocket. A little further on we saw a large dog fox scampering up the hillside. He was making much better progress than we were.

We reached the level just below the shrine fairly easily, but then had to traverse across from the farm track onto the pilgrims' path. We'd visited the shrine in early December and saw that someone had left a quince in there. I was pleased to see it was still there, looking remarkably fresh and we added our gourd to the little collection. There are some flowers, some lace, some tea, the quince and now a gourd. I'm not religious, but it was nice leaving something in the shrine.

Offerings to the Virgin Mary

Margaret wasn't keen to carry on, but we persuaded her to go higher and she managed to get to the Chapel quite easily. The last bit, as it had been in December, was quite icy and slippery but we managed to get up and down OK. See the video here. The path up from Villaret was not too icy, but would be more tricky coming down, so we decided to come back via la Rosiere on the other side of the crag, as this was a more gentle descent (without an exposed traverse) and a better path. It meant we got to la Rosiere below Villaret and had a bit of a climb back into the village. The path between Villaret and la Rosiere is quite steep and both boggy and snowy, but we took it steadily and got back up comfortably.

We were sitting on the patio cooling down when Roxy (aka Maurice) made an appearance. She’s a border collie (a proper farm dog) and very friendly. She stinks of cows, is thin as a rake, but has lovely white teeth and loves a belly rub. We’d take Roxy home, no trouble, but I don’t know what she’d make of the flat fens after a lifetime running up and down the Alps guarding and herding the cattle.

In the afternoon, we took the BMW down to Bourg-Saint-Maurice to have a nosy at the shops and also have a meal out. We thought we'd try Le Refuge Altitude 810 as we'd eaten there in March last year and it had been quite nice.

The snow had been falling gently all day and in Bourg is was sleet. It's amazing how much of a difference 200 metres makes. At Villaret snow, in Bourg wet sleet, but it was falling more heavily. We stopped in a bar for pre-dinner drink as it was a little early. It was still fairly early at 6.30pm and we surprised the waitresses in Refuge. It was empty when we arrived, but then some skiers came in followed by a huge party of three families, which added 19 people and suddenly the place was packed.

Refuge 810 is an interesting place with unusual decor. There's a clothes line with a string of frilly bloomers strung along one wall, lots of old skis and sledges hung up and we were sat below a stuffed fox (who didn't look happy with his lot) and a stuffed marmot.

There was a comedy moment when I thought I'd ordered a steak, but was actually asking for fish. Fortunately, I asked for it medium rare and the waitress realised something was not quite right.

I ended up with lamb shank, which was full of meat and very nicely cooked, but somewhat spoiled by being served in a cream and mushroom sauce. It really needed something sharp (like mint sauce perhaps) to contrast the greasy meat. By the time the cheese course came, we were pretty stuffed, so Lucy stashed the leftover cheese into her pocket to use up the next day. We'd bought some cheeses from England - Stichelton, Wode Hill Blue and Cote Hill Blue. The Stichelton (a Stilton style blue made from unpasteurised milk) was favourite and the Cote Hill Blue was very well liked (that's a soft blue from Lincolnshire). We'd left the Wode Hill Blue uncut as it was in a small, whole cheese. It's a soft blue made in Bedfordshire (also from unpasteurised milk) and it was gorgeous - so tasty and complex; definitely one to get again.

The sleet was still falling in Bourg, but was we drove up the hill, it became heavy snow and quite icy on the bottom part of the road. The traction control cut in a couple of times, so I slowed down and took the hairpins gently, rolling round in first gear and the winter tyres did their job. The snow socks (our last resort) are still in their bags.

Star pupil in Sammy Ski School, attacked by a chairlift

Arms forward - as if you're carrying a tray

This has been a day of mixed fortunes. On the plus side, my skiing was good; in fact I was the star pupil in Sammy Ski School (also the only pupil, of course). On the down side, I was swiped by a chairlift and knocked over, but that was the only fall of the day.

This was a long day skiing (for me), but a much better day; I was working hard on getting my body position right and it was paying off as the day was a lot easier on my legs. We started with the familiar trip up Cachette chairlift, then skied all the way down Belvedere past Arcs 1800, onto Liaison Grizzly which takes you almost into Vallandry and up the Grizzly lift.

We came down Grive and then up the 2300 lift a couple of times. This cuts across a large bowl which has a red one side and blue in the bowl. Below the lift there's a red and a blue. It was a good place to practise turns and I was doing pretty well.

At one side of the bowl there's a speed trap. You can ski into a roped off slope, through a little gate and then straight down past a radar gun, brake hard and check your speed at the bottom. I was keen to have a go. It didn't start well; I had to side-slide down the slope, but I found myself facing the wrong way into the gate and had to take my skis off, turn round and go through. Fortunately no-one was behind me! I flashed through the trap at 38k/h, just about managed a tight skid turn to the left to check my speed and join Lucy, who had been watching the whole thing with interest.

Looking down the speed trap.

Sam came through at 47k/h, so I'll need to work on my tuck and my stopping skills (to say nothing of my gate negotiation technique). After this excitement, we went up 2300 again with the intention of skiing down to the cafe on the side of the piste. I was on the right of the chair and I was a bit slow getting going. I'd have been fine skiing to the right, but I was going left and the chair was going right. There was only ever going to be one winner and I was dumped in the snow!

After lunch we ran down Foret to meet Maitaz and go down into 1800. At the end, Maitez crosses a red and you can either take a couple of turns on the red or side-slide across. Last time, I opted to side slide, but there was a girl frozen with fear in my way and two men (one her boyfriend, possibly) telling her to move, to turn ... Sam said he would have left her and Lucy recalled Sam's mantra when she got stuck: "what do you want me to do, call mountain rescue?"

I waited for her for a while, thinking about making a turn around her, but one of the men was in the way, sitting on his snowboard. In the end I went for it and managed to ski around her and him. This time, I just executed a couple of turns and crossed quite comfortably. I kept some speed going because I knew it flattened out in 1800 before the Chantelle lift, which is the one we wanted.

Practising turns in the bowl  at 2300

After Chantelle, it was the long, slow Gollet back to 1600. In places, this is so slow you can hardly keep moving, but half-way along, there's a really steep section, which holds little fear for me now. Even the last steep run down into 1600 was completed comfortably. The lifts in 1600 all have steep sections immediately in front of them. For learners, it's not the ideal place.

This was a great day for me, I felt as if I'd made a breakthrough with my skiing and I still had some life in my legs. Lucy thought I should have finished on Renard.

Margaret takes a look at Arcs 1600

We have told Margaret a great deal about Arcs 1600 and about the funicular railway, so today we decided that she should take a look for herself.

Sam and Lucy went off skiing on their own, while we took the BMW down to Bourg for a run and parked up at the funicular. It costs 12 Euros for a return ticket on the funicular (it's included in my ski pass), so it's quite expensive.

The plan was for Margaret to spend an hour or so looking around Arc 1600 (not much to see), while I spent some time skiing to "put some miles" into my achy legs.

I left her at the bottom of Cachette and I'd decided to just get the lift up and ski down Belvedere and Arpette a couple of times, which is exactly what I did. It's odd skiing on your own, you do feel a little exposed, but it meant I could take my time and stop if needed. I was soon feeling it on my legs, so I did stop a couple of times. I practised some side sliding on the steep bit down to the bottom of the lift; also got my turns in so I kept control and didn't fall.

Second time came down, I saw Margaret standing at the bottom. She'd seen me ski down and so I decided to ski down the steep bank to join her on the path. Now such instances of bravado have been known to go wrong in the past, most recently on Thursday when, during my first day in Sammy Ski School, we were allowed a break. Lucy skied down a steep chute and skidded to a stop at the bottom near the cafe and I thought "that doesn't look too hard." So, instead of taking off my skies and walking down, I followed Lucy, failed to skid to a complete halt and ended up embracing a sturdy litter bin that might well have been placed there to save novice skiers from their own folly.

Today, I could easily have done a flip over the fence at the bottom and ended in a heap next to Margaret, but the gods of the ski were with me and I was able to ski forward down the narrow chute, turn, engage both edges and come to an impressive halt only a few feet from where I'd planned to end up. Margaret thought I'd looked the part coming down, she'd clearly missed the bit where I'd nearly taken out the small child and mistaken the panic braking for an impressive skid stop.

Well, good to quit while I was ahead and despite only a couple of runs, my legs were near gone. Margaret was cold sitting outside, so I gave her my ski jacket, but then I was cold, so we sat inside and ordered drinks and food. I'd texted Sam and Lucy to say where we were and they joined us midway through our pizza.

Sam has been cooking every night, so today I said I'd make dinner. Margaret and I took the funicular down and headed to the supermarket (Super U) where we stocked up with a box of Merlot (5 litres for less than the price of a return ticket on the funicular) and the ingredients for broccoli pasta, while turned out quite well.

It’s snowing, we're in the Alps - no surprise there then

Margaret has several wishes to fulfill this holiday. She had wanted to try snowshoeing, she had wanted it to snow and she wanted to see Roxy (aka Maurice), the very smelly farm dog.

On Saturday night and through Sunday, the snow wish was granted as it snowed pretty steadily all night and through part of Sunday. I was woken at 5am by the snowplough, which reaches the highest point of the village and the end of its run just outside Maison Blueski.

It pushes the snow into a road-blocking bank just above our house and the farmer then has to clear it to get to his higher fields. He often does this by driving a tractor straight through it or sometimes by means of his mechanical shovel. Anyway, the snowplough turns round amid revving engine and a bleeping reversing alarm.

It was nice to see the trees covered with snow and in the afternoon we saw a small herd of deer moving down through the trees towards some open, snow-covered, pasture.

Second day in Sammy Ski School

After my weak performance on Thursday, I think I may have been put into the special measures section of SSS.

It was a lovely day and I was keen to ski, but a little nervous that a couple of days earlier my legs had basically given up after three hours.

Sam had chosen some different runs and there was minimal gradient and maximum width. I was determined to focus on the advice a little more. I can see how body position affects the dynamics of skiing and not leaning forward enough is my biggest crime.

So I'm trying to ski as if I'm carrying an invisible tray of drinks (these are the tricks Sam's Ski School plays on its pupils), pointing my shoulder downhill and planting ski poles on the inside of my turns.

We went up Cachette, skied down Belvedere to the Arpette lift at 2413m then down into the bowl. It was lovely and sunny with no wind in the bowl and I could see the snow really well. We went all the way down the Plan Blue run to the Arcabulle lift which takes you up to 2600m, then there's a long gentle blue called Col de la Chal (which is so flat you have to skate in places) then the steeper, but wide, Vallee de l'Arc back down to bottom of Arcabulle.

We did that a couple of times and I felt I was skiing pretty well. On the second run, I started to feel it in my legs, so suggested a cafe break. Sam left to to find Lucy and when they got back, we decided to ski down into 1950 for lunch. Of the four Les Arcs resorts, 1950 is the most pretty (and also the most expensive). You can ski through the resort and it's really nice cruising past expensive shops and restaurants.

Chilling in the sun above 1950

From 1950, there's a steeper blue down to the Comborciere lift and I was starting to feel my legs tiring by the time I got to the lift. The sunny sky had gone and as we got up to the top of Belvedere, the light was flat and a snowstorm was coming.

It was really tricky to see the snow at the top and, to make matters worse, the piste was quite rutted and steep, so it was hard work down to the smooth bit. We took it steady down Arpette to 1600, but my legs had gone again and I fell for first time on the steep bit just above the resort, losing both skis. I was really shattered.

That night, we had Morteau sausage with mustard and gherkins, boiled potatoes and cabbage. Margaret has voted it the best meal of the holiday.