Not another skiing holiday!

As if I wasn't battered enough after the last one. Sam had a week's holiday to get in and wanted more skiing. He asked all his mates and, finally, in desperation, he asked me. So here I am in Arc 1950 in a ski chalet with Sam, an Irish couple and an Irish chalet host. We got a cheap late deal, which you can do if there's just the two of you and you can be flexible.

I like 1950, I've skied through here a few times while staying with Sam and Lucy at Villaret sur la Rosiere, but I always thought it was really expensive – not so this week, thanks to that deal. We're with SkiBeat which Sam booked through Igloo.

There was, predictably, a late scare with the Jersey weather. This time it was a threatened force 9 gale which would ground all aircraft, so Sam wouldn't be able to fly out. As it happened, the weather was not so violent; he was able to get off (good old EasyJet) and we met at Gatwick on Friday evening, stayed overnight at a hotel by the terminal and made a 4am start for a 6.40am flight.

The flight was on time, but our coach transfer (quite a long one from Lyon) was held up waiting for just a couple of people from Manchester to arrive. Most people on the bus were heading for La Rosiere, so we were dropped off in Bourg-Saint-Maurice and had a taxi to take us up to 1950. We got here around 3pm.

View from our chalet window

There had been a big snowfall on the previous day and it was snowing slightly at 1950. The taxi took us into a massive underground car park below the village. This is a fantastic feat of engineering. The village was built as a one-off development (apparently in the style of Whistler in the US) and it's a real feat. I quite like the place, but of course, it's completely fake. At least it's pretty fake, unlike Arc 2000, 1800, Les Menuires and Val Thorens, which are monstrosities. You can also ski right through the village, which I also like very much. Just imagine being able to ski through Thorney – clip your skis on and cruise to Mo's for your paper or along to school for a meeting.

Our chalet host is an odd mix of earnest and chilled, very keen to be helpful and a very good cook. We thought he'd gone to work in the Alps for the season to forget a girl. We had a fantastic opening three-course dinner and a really high standard all week. For breakfast, he's fond of his porridge, which suits me very well.

There was heavy snow when we went to bed and we woke up to the sound of explosions from the piste workers using TNT to dislodge the snow banks threatening to avalanche. Lots of lifts and runs were closed and we couldn't get across to 1800 or 1600, so we were restricted to 1950 and 2000. Up in the bowl, it was quite hard to see – pretty much a white out – and the runs further down, with more trees about, were better, but have a really slow lift feeding them. I have never skied in deep powder before and it was different. It would have been better if it hadn't been so busy; lots of people were on the fewer runs open for business and there were lots of ski schools and lots of kids.

I did have one fall. No injuries, but it was spectacular. In the white blur, I missed the edge of the piste and shot off-piste into about three feet of soft powder. It was a nice comfortable landing, but I spent an awkward minute stuck on my back like a beetle kicking my legs. Luckily, my skis had stayed on, so I was able to get myself pointing in the right direction, then upright, then ski through the soft snow back onto the piste. I'd had enough after a couple of hours, so Sam went off to do some other runs (he's quite patient, but it's not much fun for him pootling around on blues). I had a chillax and then went to the spa, which is part of our deal, and had an open-air swim, sauna and steam room. The pool was fairly warm, but you did have to walk through snow in your bare feet to get in, so anything might have felt warm after that.

Rob cooked up another three-course meal in the evening (chicken in cream sauce for the main). I’d bought a bottle of Genépé and introduced Justin and Lizzie (an Irish couple and the other guests in the chalet) to it. We polished off the best part of a bottle of Genépé between us.

On Monday I decided to ski in the afternoon. Lifts were not open when Sam went out so he got the bus down to Arc 1600 and met three chaps who were from Knutsford on their annual ski holiday. He showed them the runs around 1600 and they offered to buy him dinner, but he had to come back to meet me. One of them goes to Jersey for his holidays each year and so Sam might get a bit of business out of him if he's taken ill while over there.

I was skiing like a plonker in the afternoon and had a few tumbles, but no pain. In the end, I found a nice gentle and quiet blue above 2000 called Marais; it was as good as Gollet. Sam let me do it twice, but then we had to do something a little more testing so we skied down Vallee de l'Arc to check out a restaurant that we might use for dinner on Wednesday night (Rob's night off). The run was really, really busy and, near the bottom, we ran into cloud, so you couldn't see more than 50 metres. The restaurant is only open in the afternoon and it wasn't open that afternoon, so despite our efforts, we'd have to find somewhere in 1950 for dinner.

I'd had enough skiing, so I caught the bus back up to 1950 and Sam went on a late tour above 1600 and 1800. He almost missed the last lift back.

On Tuesday, I was out good and early to ski across to Vallandry, which we did via Plan Bois, Foret (an old favourite) and Grizzly. We then took the Grizzly lift and skied down Foret (past the top of the infamous Renard) to 1800. Sam wondered if I'd like to do Renard as I was now a more experienced skier than my previous two attempts. I took the stance that Holly uses when she doesn't want a wash, I dug my front paws in and arched my back. The runs were getting busier and busier. It's the first of Paris ski fortnight, so just about the worst combination you could wish for – lots of people and lots of rude Parisians. Most of the locals don't like them, despite all the money they bring in – it makes you wonder what they say about us when we're gone.

The route from 1800 to 1600 is simple enough – Gollet all the way – but Sam took us up Vagere lift and then claimed he didn't know how to get to Gollet. I quite enjoyed the route we took (Arpette 1) which was a favourite of ski schools. After a drink in 1600, Sam went off to ski in La Plagne via the Vanoise Express and I caught the bus back to 1950. It was snowing when I arrived and it's been snowing steadily since. More snow is predicted for Wednesday.

Wednesday was a grey old day and we went across to ski above 1600 because the visibility was so poor. I was skiing like a novice, leaning back, I kept trying to snowplough and coming off the top of the Comborciere lift down the little ski road I couldn't do a skid stop at the end and went flying past Sam to stop 15 yards further on. I think he felt sorry for me because he said I could do Gollet. I said “OK, just for old time's sake.” Actually, Gollet was quite uneven and Sam almost fell over – what an embarrassment that would have been. We took the lift back up and I said I'd do Gollet again and then stop for the day as it was snowing hard. Sam came with me to do the black (see below for his evil plan) and Gollet was much easier this time as a couple of inches of powder snow had fallen. I said I'd get the bus back up to 1950 and Sam shot off to ski on his own for a bit. On the way down, I missed the edge of the piste and fell over. It was quite flat and I couldn't get up and struggled for a couple of minutes before I gave up and took off a ski.

Sam called later in the afternoon to say he'd finished and was going for a drink in 2000, so I got the bubble lift up to join him. He was in the restaurant just at the entrance to the village and when I got there he had a glass of Chablis and a dozen oysters – still a GTC – although he did give me a couple oysters and they were rather good. In the evening, it was the chalet host's night off so we went to La Vache Rouge restaurant for dinner. The exterior looks a little odd (there's a full-size model of a cow, painted red, for a start) but it's very good. We both had fillet steak with chips, followed by a local cheeseboard.

On Thursday, conditions were perfect, about as good as it gets, so we were out reasonably early, but so was everyone else; the lifts were really busy below 1950, so we skied down to Comborciere. We were almost the first people to ski the piste (Vallee de l'Arc). It's a nice run, but has been so busy at times this week that it's been a nightmare. Anyway, we went up the slow Comborciere and then down the ski road past Mont Blanc onto Belvedere. I was really concentrating hard on body position and kept control all the way down, even when someone had fallen in front and the ski instructor was taking up almost all the piste pulling them up. We went down to Arpette lift which takes you up onto a ridge where you can ski round back into the bowl above Arc 2000 and take a couple of nice blues back to the lifts. We did both Edelweiss and Plan. I remember Edelweiss from my ski-school days. It's a good run on which to practise your parallel turns and it was pretty quiet. We took the lift back onto the ridge and pootled about on the blues above 1800 and Vallandry before working back via Grizzly and Derby to the mid-station of the Trans Arc bubble. We finished the day with a run down Col de Chal and Vallee de l'Arc 2 and then down into 1950 to finish. I'd skied about 26 miles and it was the best I've skied this year, so I was very pleased with myself.

On Friday, I took the bus and the funicular down to Bourg-Saint-Maurice. It was sunny at 1950, but misty and freezing in the bottom of the valley. Nice to see Bourg again and also visit some favourite shops for mugs and Christmas tree ornaments. It was not nice to see the development going on in front of the church and war memorial. This was where the market was held, but now it's a huge hole and building site where they're putting up a development of apartments up to five storeys. It will spoil the aspect from the church and the little square that once existed.

Massive development in from of the church in Bourg-Saint-Maurice

There was some drama later in the day when the host of the SkiBeat chalet opposite, burned his hand cleaning the oven. He had to be treated in Vallandry and a reserve host (a lady, who looked to be about 45) skied in at a few hours notice to look after the guests. Our chalet host helped as much as he could, telling her where things are and lending missing implements, but she looked very capable. I wonder how a woman of that age comes to be doing chalet hosting. There must be a back story.

Our chalet host had recommended an app called Yuge at the start of the holiday; it's a ski app which will track how far you've skied during the day, average speed, top speed and descent. Sam put it on his phone and tried it the first day. It told him he was 150-something out of 600 users and Sam immediately set a goal to reach the top 10. Halfway through the week, I asked him if he didn't mind skiing all these boring old blues with me. He said he didn't, but it turns out that Yuge gives you points for skiing new runs. He even wanted to ski Gollet once to cross it off and again, so he could do the little black link. One day, he clocked up over 60 miles skiing and on the last day, he wanted to ski the Aguille Rouge from top to Villaroger in order to get a virtual badge. He clocked 87 kph on the run down – much too fast, said I.

Setting sun on Mont Blanc - lovely

On our last day, we went out about 5.30pm for a wander around the village and final drink. The sun was just setting on Mont Blanc and we had a nice view of Monty. What a magnificent sight.

It was a great holiday, nice to spend some time with Sam and I like the runs around Les Arc (there are so many). Arc 1950 is great, our chalet was good and SkiBeat did all they said they would. The transfer was a little long (to Lyon), but worked out OK. We were there for 3.30pm and I got home about the same time. I really like Aer Lingus (the carrier), who did a great job and even fed us a snack and free drink. I think I've got used to EastJet, so a wrap and a coke seemed like the good old days.

Ski holiday day 5: We all overdose on cheese!

We deliberately didn't buy a week's ski pass for Sainte-Foy. This was mainly because Sam and Lucy had plans to travel to a few other resorts, but also because (if we were lucky) we'd get some coupons from Super U supermarket in Bourg-saint-Maurice which would give us money off a day's ski pass.

True enough, our big shop on Monday provided three coupons for cut-price ski passes which could be redeemed either on Wednesday or Saturday.

Today was /is Wednesday, so we got cheap passes and skied in Sainte-Foy. After the trials and tribulations of yesterday, it was nice to have an easy day's skiing.

Also, I tried out my contact lens/goggles combo instead of sunglasses and it worked a treat. I wish I'd had them yesterday, it would have been much easier. I've not worn contact lenses for a couple of years, so it took me a few attempts to get them in, but it was well worth it.

Quick drink with Margaret before lunch

I skied on my own during the morning, I've got my St Foy compass set now, so I skied all the blues in the resort (some of them three times). Sam and Lucy were doing some of the harder reds. We had planned to meet Margaret for lunch, but about noon, I was very thirsty, so I texted her from the top to see if she wanted to meet for a drink before lunch.

On the way down, I bumped into Sam and Lucy so we all skied down together; I met mum for a drink while Sam and Lucy skied another few runs.

We'd agreed that we'd have lunch at a restaurant called La Bergerie, which translates as The Sheepfold. The menu offers a nice line in steaks, but at lunchtime pizza is available. I had Royale, Margaret and Sam had a Catalane and Lucy had Quatro Fromages.

The pizza base was good, thin and crispy, but Lucy's was an inch thick with cheese - far too much - and mine was almost as bad (but with mushrooms, olives and ham). There was just too much cheese and it was also super salty. We had thought we might go there for dinner one evening (perhaps Saturday), the place has nice decor and pleasant service.

We had a quick ski after lunch, but it was very hard work with a belly full of pizza. We skied three blues and Sam got his GoPro camera attached to his helmet, so he took some videos with that. They turn out quite well.

It's not looking beret good

Saturday is market day in Bourg-saint-Maurice and we drove down into town to take a look. It's not a big place, but it has a fair-sized market and there seem to be a few different stalls each week.

We were hoping the miniature pigs would be there, but there was no sign of them. My eye was caught by a hat stall and by a large collection of that most distinctive item of French headwear - the beret.

After a poor effort at putting one on, the stallholder came to help and arranged it at a rather jaunty angle. Sam took a picture for me to see (no mirror on a hat stall is a bit of an oversight), but I don't think it worked. It was also far too big. I tried a smaller one, but that was too small and then a Breton beret, but that didn't work either.

Margaret, meanwhile, was persuaded to try the first beret, which (it turns out) is a French army beret used by mountain troops. I couldn't carry off the look, but I think Margaret succeeded. She struggles to find hats to fit her, but this one was spot on.

After the market, we had planned to drive to Beaufort for a look around. However, we'd overlooked the fact that Saturday is change-over day and the road out of Bourg towards Moutiers was already forming one long traffic jam. We turned around and came off the main road at Bellentre, where we'd walked through the other day. The road winds up the side of the valley through Villarivon and Montgirod, where you can turn off for the high village of Les Chapelles.

This is an interesting place, the main village for a group of the higher settlements. There's a collection of very old buildings, with newer homes surrounding them. The church and the churchyard was interesting and there was a really old grand, but crumbling, farm and barn next to the church. We were adopted by a friendly dog, who followed us around town for 15 minutes just to be sociable.

The road down takes us back to Montgirod and then to Vulmix from the top, so we got to see the parts we missed earlier in the week when we walked through. There's a restaurant and another interesting church. The churches in this region are in the baroque style - many of them were remodelled during the 16th century in a show of strength and wealth designed to counter the spread of Protestantism.

After a bread-and-cheese lunch, Sam and I walked up to the Chapel St Michel and down via La Rosiere, before climbing back up to Villaret.

In the evening, we had dinner at Restaurant Arssiban in Bourg. We went for their €27 set menu, which was quite good. It's a nice place, very light and spacious for a French restaurant (or any restaurant come to that) and with large, roomy tables. It seems popular with families. Waitresses were two mature ladies (about my age), who got things done in an unfussed manor. It was very much like dining in someone's house.

A very slippery slope

Sam had kindly taken my skis for a service - the scratches have been filled, bottoms waxed and edges sharpened at PolaireStar near the Funicular and were - in the words of the owner - as good as new.

They felt really fast on the crisp early morning snow, but the sharper edges were helping me grip and, as it got a bit slushy, later in the morning the newly waxed bottoms were faster and easier.

We drove up to Arc 1600, rather than taking the Funicular - it's much more comfortable and convenient and it's free to park in the resort rather than costing you €3 in the Funicular car park. We skied across to Arc 1800 and then up Grizzly and down Foret to 2300 which is open again. I did that run three times. It's a nice wide, open bowl so plenty of opportunity to practise parallel turns. I really enjoyed the day, but the snow was getting really slushy by 1pm, so we called it a day and drove back down, went to the supermarket and had carrot soup for lunch which Margaret had prepared.

The weather has been warm and sunny and the snow line is retreating up the mountains really quickly. Quite a number of runs are already closed and the whole resort will shut down in a couple of weeks.

It was such a nice afternoon that we decided to walk up the mountain to an abandoned village about 400 metres above Villaret. This is called Granville and it sits just above the Church of St Michael, where we've walked a couple of times.

Wild violets (above) and cowslips (below)

It's amazing how the Alps spring into life as the snow retreats. Nature gets a sprint on back home in Cambridgeshire, of course, but up here (where spring comes later and winter earlier) it really does burst forth.

Wild hellebores are almost over (they were growing through the snow in February), but now there are lots of cowslips, wild violets and many more. The grass is growing so quickly that you almost feel you could see it moving and the farmers are getting sheep, cattle and goats out of winter quarters and moving them up the mountains.

Past the turn off for the church (St Michel) up a long, straight path shaded by trees, we were lucky to surprise a marmot (which has probably just come out of hibernation). He ran away alongside the path and then out into the field, where he crouched down very low to watch us go past.

Granville is a sad place. It's at 1470 metres and I'm guessing wasn't ever fully occupied the whole year as it would have been well above the snow line and quite a harsh place in winter. Perhaps some animals were kept up there all year round? The place is now mainly in ruins, although there is one house and a large barn that's still being used. The church is locked and has a severe crack running down its front wall almost unseating the Madonna and child and ending above the door which has been braced to stop the whole thing collapsing.

It would have been nice to have gone inside, but I guess it's not safe. I took the interior picture below with my iPhone pressed against the front window. There are pews, an altar rail and pictures on the wall behind the altar. There are also pictures showing the 12 stations of the cross placed around the church.

Granville is a sad place, but the church is even sadder. I don't have any religion, but I find there's something very depressing about a place of worship that's abandoned. It points to lost faith and a cornerstone being removed that would have once united a community. In the heat of the spring sun, tiny green and brown lizards were running around on the walls and among the stones of the houses where quite a number of people would have lived and worked; trees have already established themselves in the rooms where people once dwelt and summer vegetation is preparing for another year's growth to cover and hide Granville's sadness.

Church at Granville - the two buildings next to it are still being used.

Interior of the church at Granville.

Iorek heads south

Sam and Lucy's French sabbatical went sour at the beginning of the month when a chap pulled out in front of Sam in Bourg St Maurice. His car was damaged on the front nearside and he was also forced into the kerb, damaging his front wheel and strut.

It's the sort of thing you dread happening. Fortunately no-one was seriously hurt, although Sam has some whiplash, or similar. The worse thing is that you have to go through all the bureaucracy of filling in forms (but they're in French) and contacting your insurers (from France).

A few days later, Sam heard that his car would be written off - the cost of repairs was greater than the value of the car. It's a shame, because the Ford Focus (that had been Margaret's) was a really good car - reliable, fairly economical and pretty comfortable. There was no rust on it and every likelihood that it would have kept chugging along for another five years of so.

So the reality was that Sam and Lucy were stuck in France with no car and not even sure they would be able to hire a car short-term so they could continue to ski. I thought Sam would be able to do so and claim back the cost, but his insurance company said he'd have to claim back against the French insurer, so it was not going to be very straightforward. They certainly couldn't buy a car in France, as they'd be faced with either selling it in three months' time or else importing it into the UK and driving round in a left-hooker.

Max had said to me that he would get rid of his car in summer when his MoT ran out. He's not been using it very much and it's a further expense that he could do without. I'd said that if he did decide to get rid of it, I'd have it and we'd keep it in Thorney as a second car, so that any of the children could use it when they were home or wanted it for holidays. Frankly, it would have been useful these past few weeks as Andy Bunyan seems to have had my car more than I have,

Max's VW Polo was bought aboutfive years ago for £975; it's a 1-litre car with 160,000 miles on the clock and is 15 years old. I have a certain affection for it and some admiration for its longevity.

Anyway, I called Max to tell him about Sam's problems and asked him whether he would be willing to give Sam the car; he was, so on Monday, March 3rd, I caught the train to London and drove it back to Thorney. The plan was to get winter tyres fitted, get a new roof rack (so the ski clamps could be fitted), have it serviced and then drive it down to Bourg St Maurice the following Monday. I'd stay a few days, do some skiing and fly back.

This was one of those weeks when nothing seemed to run quite to plan. Andy Bunyan had the car for servicing and would also change the cam-belt and try to fix the exhaust (which is sound enough, but has an annoying rattle when you go round a left-hand bend or when you get past 70mph in a straight line. At some time, Max has had a new exhaust fitted and my theory is that the garage fitted the wrong one, so it's not properly seated in its channel below the car. At a couple of points, the exhaust heat shield is close to the bodywork and when the exhaust vibrates at higher throttle openings (or left-hand bends) it knocks against the car body. It's bloody annoying on a long run. Andy said he couldn't cure it, but he had lessened the problem.

It seemed much better, but it remains annoying, if at a different level than before. Getting winter tyres fitted in March was easier said than done. Most people are taking their winter tyres off and putting summer tyres on, so I was swimming against the tide. Kwik-Fit didn't come back to me, an internet based fit-at-home company took the order on their website, but when I called to confirm the fitting time, they said they didn't have any winter tyres and it would be two weeks before any could be ordered. Finally I found somewhere to do it, but they would need a week to get hold of the tyres.

Two jobs ticked off, but the third - the roof rack - proved most difficult. Sam could use my roof bars (and already has my ski clamps), but would need feet and fittings to attach the bars to his roof. I've used Thule bits and, because my car has roof bars, I just need the feet to attach to the bars. Halfords had the feet, but not the fittings, but could order some (ready in 2-3 days). I stressed I needed them for Saturday because I was driving to France. To cut a long and frustrating story short, they didn't arrive. Annoyingly, we discovered we could have paid an extra couple of pounds and had them next-day delivery (why the sales guy didn't tell us that, I have no idea); double annoying, I discovered they were available cheaper direct from Thule and they would do a next-day delivery. By the time I discovered this, it was Friday and the post had gone, so I could only order Monday for Tuesday delivery ...

In the end, Halfords gave us a refund and Sam ordered some magnetic ski clamps for £80, cheaper than the £110 for the Thule feet and fittings.

I booked the 6.30am ferry from Dover for Monday and the snow train back from Bourg Saint Maurice the following Saturday. The train was £95 one-way, compared to as little as £35 for a flight, but it left from Bourg (five minutes away from Sam's chalet). If I'd flown, I'd have had to be driven to either Geneva or Grenoble, with probably £30 in petrol and £20 in tolls; I'd also have had to pay for the Gatwick Express back to Victoria and then the Underground to King's Cross. Cost would have ended up somewhat higher; also, the flights were all around 9.30am on Saturday morning, so we'd have had to leave around 5.30am to allow travel time and to be there an hour before the flight leaves.

The Eurostar snow train leaves Bourg at 10.15am and 10.15pm (two trains on a Saturday only) and goes straight through to St Pancras in London. I went for the night one (it was cheaper and I could have a relaxing day in Bourg) and that got me back to St Pancras at 7am on Sunday.

The drive to Dover involves a 3am start and the M20 was closed so I had to use the M2 from Dartford to Dover. It wasn't too bad a trip and I was there in plenty of time. When I stepped into the back garden at 2.30am, Jupiter was setting in the west and Mars was shining red in the southern sky. As I approached Drover, I could see Venus shining brilliantly in the south-east just ahead of the dawn. Getting up early has few compensations, but three magnificent views of the planets is one of them.

Max's car is called Iorek Brynison, after the armoured polar bear in the book Northern Lights. I've never really been one for naming cars. My Ford Mondeo was called Monty and my first BMW GS motorcycle was called Beaky. I quite like giving a name to some inanimate object, but the name has to come, rather than be found by deliberation, so most of my cars are just called "the BMW" or "the Merc" or "the Golf".

Anyway, Iorek and I stepped off the P&O ferry at Calais with 600 miles of French roads between us and Bourg Saint Maurice. The car cruises comfortably at 70-80mph, but the exhaust rattle was a constant annoyance. It kicks in at 70mph, but also rattles even on gentle left-hand bends. I went through about four Bruce Springsteen CDs, then I think I Bruce Springsteen was more annoying than the exhaust rattle, so I pressed on regardless. I found that getting the speed up to about 85mph made the rattle disappear, but I thought running the car for six hours at that speed might be a bit much for a 15-year-old car with 160,000 miles on the clock.

The Polo doesn't have power steering or ABS and it's surprising how quickly you get used to such aids to driving. If you read about my first car on this blog, then you’ll see that the Polo is an absolute technical marvel, but compared to the BMW or even the Focus, it's from a different, pres-electronic era.

The other thing you have to do is wind down your own windows. I found that if I pulled alongside toll booths so that I was very close, I could lean across, wind down the passenger window and either grab the card or insert card/credit card to pay. I got into a bit of a swing with winding down the window on the approach and winding it back up as I accelerated away.

After a few of those, I decided that I'd get out of the car and run round to pay or grab a ticket. After six hours in the car, with just one petrol stop, I was getting worried about deep-vein thrombosis and thought the stretch would do me good.

Iorek did me proud, I took perhaps an hour longer than in the BMW, but still got to Sam and Lucy at around 6.30pm. Time for a beer and some food. They were pleased to see me but (I think) even more pleased to have a car once again. They were also pleased by the sight of two boxes of Tunnocks chocolate tea-cakes and a bottle of sherry. We don’t realise it, but these are British delicacies.

Next day Iorek had a wash at Super U and Sam and I gave it a waxing to restore some of the shine. The magnetic ski rack came after a couple of days and that seemed to work quite well. However, Sam had discovered you could get three sets of skis in the back, resting on the seat back and tucked under the passenger seat. With a towel to protect the back seat from being cut by the edges, you could get three people and skis inside without a ski rack.

The boot is good and deep, so it takes ski boots and poles quite easily. This Mk II Polo was a brilliant little car.

Iorek getting a wash at Super U. I think Lucy just wanted to play with the jet wash

All aboard the snow train!

Lunch in La Plagne

My skiing was much improved in February under the harsh regime of Sammy Ski School. After the bitter reality of Renard, how I longed for ESF and the sarcasm of Guy (are you looking for ze mushrooms Eric?) and those gentle days of Route Des Animaux.

But there's no pain without some gain and I was certainly skiing much better after February. These three days in March were something of a ski bonus brought about by Sam's misfortune with Parisian driving standards imported to Bourg Saint Maurice during Paris holiday week. Basically, don't bother looking right, just turn onto the main road and hope for the best.

Sam's car was written off, Max said he could have his old Polo to tide him over and I was delivery driver. This meant that after a quiet day on Tuesday to sort out a few jobs, we were good to go for skiing on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.

The weather was absolutely beautiful. It was super sunny and around 20 deg C, which meant the snow was quite slushy in the afternoon and quite icy in the morning. That caught me out on the first day when I found some marbles - little balls of ice - under my skis. It's the motoring equivalent of a patch of ice, one minute my edges were gripping, the next I'd lost the back end, crashed onto my back, cracked my head (good job I had the helmet on) and went sliding down the slope backwards and on my back.  It was a bizarre crash, especially when I overtook Sam, sliding by like an inverted tortoise.

There was no harm done and we headed across to the south side of the mountain where there's a big bowl (2300) where I could spend some time practising my turns. Unfortunately the lift there was out of action and so Sam had to revise his plans, which meant a trip down the dreaded Renard. This reddish-blue run is getting quite familiar and it was much easier than I remembered in February. I was skiing down fairly happily and reasonably quickly, so fast that I almost didn't notice the taped-off area where someone was being treated for a serious injury and the medical helicopter parked at the side of the piste! That’s Renard for you!

It was a good day, my stamina has improved and so has my technique, although I still need to work on the speed of the turn. It's OK down most blues, but when the slope is steeper, I have to make longer traverses to keep the speed down and that often means I'm ploughing through banks of snow kicked up by those taking a more direct route. Quicker turns would mean a straighter descent and more control.

We skied a shorter day on Thursday, but the weather was glorious again. Highlight of the day was Lucy sitting down in the snow to have her lunch, but slipping and then sliding backwards downhill out of the picnic area, over a bank and onto the piste below. It was a real comedy slow-motion sequence (worth £500 on You've Been Framed) and once we knew she was all right, we enjoyed a laugh at her expense. The only thing that would have made it better was if she'd had a cheese sandwich in her hand.

I felt that I was skiing well enough to be a little more ambitious, so on Friday, Sam and I went across to La Plagne. My old work friend Chris Perera is skiing there in April and I said I'd ski across and meet him. This was a bit of a recce and to see how long it would take us to get across there.

On board the Vanoise Express.

Getting to La Plagne from Arc 1600 means a few lifts and a fairly long traverse across the mountain down to the Vanoise Express. This is a massive cable car that links Les Arcs/La Plagne. The cars are double-deckers and can carry over 100 people and it gets you across pretty quickly. The cables stretch 1,800 metres and it rides 400 metres above the valley floor. I'm not one to be concerned about such things, but there are quite a few people who prefer not to look down. Actually looking out of the thing is quite hard because, for the lift's 10th anniversary, they painted pixelated graphics onto the side of the cars, so you peer out through a spotty haze. It rather spoils the view.

Getting across the valley is one thing; getting to the resort is another. It involves three lifts and from the top of one lift, you have to ski down to the start of another. One of the blue runs was incredibly steep. I’d already fallen once – quite painfully – on the way down to Vallandry and I had three more falls during the day, including one where a 10-year-old French girl skied into the back of me! Some of the runs were quite rutted and it was still a French holiday week, so the slopes were quite busy in places.

Anyway, we managed to get up the lifts, down the slopes and skied down into the bowl of La Plagne. It seems a more compact resort complex than Les Arcs, where there are four centres and a couple of bowls. There's also a magic carpet, so I approve of that. We sat in the hot sun and had a beer and a Kit-Kat. I wasn't sure how long it would take to get back, so we didn't do Le Tunnel (the well-known blue in la Plagne, where you ski down and through a tunnel). Instead, there's a large lift from the bottom of the bowl (one of those six-seaters) where you can quickly get up to the edge of the bowl. For us, it was then a long, long blue called Mont Blanc all the way down to the Vanoise cable car. You can tell how long it was by the fact the piste post numbering started up around 150. Actually, it was quite a nice run and - apart from being tail-ended by a 10-year-old - I rather enjoyed it.

From there, it was a case of being back on familiar territory. I wanted to go on the top deck of the Vanoise on the way back, then it was up one lift and back on my old friend Foret, along Maitez and we were back in Arc 1800. I was pretty weary by this stage and so Sam took pity on me and allowed me to go up Chantelle and back along Golet.

This was my longest day skiing and the most distance I've ever covered. I really enjoyed it; it felt as if I'd been skiing with a purpose (to get somewhere, rather than just pootling about up and down different runs). However, I was pretty weary (a real weary, weary-woo) and very glad of a second beer and a cheese and ham galette in 1600.

Sam and Lucy were getting ready for the coming week, when Laura Bell (her good friend and bridesmaid at her wedding) was coming to stay. In fact, on the Saturday while I was killing time waiting for my train, Laura would have been on the long drive down from Calais. She was coming with one of her friends, whom Lucy had met before, and her friend's brother. There was a new skier (Laura), someone who had skied a couple of times (the friend) and a snowboarder (the brother), so a real mixed bunch.

On Saturday, we went down into Bourg where it was market day, with a collection of stalls top and bottom of the main street. I bought some farmhouse reblochon for a tartiflette treat back in Blighty and a Christmas tree ornament. I was going to buy some cheese from the farm next-door to Sam's chalet (they have a stall in the market on Saturdays) but it was very busy, there was a long queue and I didn't bother.

I did buy some sweets from a charity stall that was rescuing unwanted farm animals. They needed money for vets' fees and had a couple of little pigs in some straw on top of their stall. Margaret would rather like a pig and this pair seemed very cute, although rather intent on finding some lettuce hidden among the straw of their pen. It's unexpected to find the French trying to help (rather than eat) animals, so this was worth supporting.

Sam with the cute pigs on Bourg market.

I was a little worried about the 10.15pm snow train. When I've got Eurostar back from Brussels there were huge queues at the Midi station and once I almost missed the train. The Eurostar booking site said that I had one of the last eight seats on the train, so I thought it would be really busy.

In actual fact it couldn't have been much easier. There was a tiny queue, but we were through passport and baggage in 15 minutes and on the train. The biggest problem was than my carriage was right at the front and these trains are really long. There were only about eight people in my carriage and I was thinking that Eurostar was trying to make me panic buy a seat when we pulled into Moutiers ...

I had expected to go straight through to St Pancras, But at Moutiers, hundreds of people piled on board and the carriage was full. I was hoping that I could have stretched out across two seats, but now I was locked into position. The seats are quite comfortable and I did get some sleep, but there were two or three really loud snorers on the train, who disturbed the peace somewhat.

At Albertville, the train pulled into the station, waited for about 10 minutes and then set off in the opposite direction. It meant I was travelling forwards rather than backwards. You couldn't see much out of the window except darkness and the odd light flashing past. We stopped in one station for about 30 minutes (I think it must have been near Paris) and then I dozed off again and woke as we were entering the Channel Tunnel. In Kent, it was light and there was something to look at; we stopped at Ashford and then St Pancras.

It was just after 7am (GMT) and bang on time. It's an impressive service, if not the most comfortable journey. I guess the daytime train would be more pleasant because you would be able to stretch your legs without disturbing others (who were asleep) and there would be something to look at.

I had to queue for passport control at St Pancras, which is always annoying having done it at Bourg Saint Maurice, but I had lots of time and was even prepared for some light banter with the over-cheerful chap at border control. There was time for breakfast at King's Cross and a nice journey (via the Hertford loop) back to Peterborough, where Margaret and Holly were waiting for me outside the station. I got back to Peterborough about 10.15am, making it 12 hours in the clock and 13 hours with the switch from CET to GMT.

Sam and Lucy at the picnic area in Les Arcs - that's Mont Blanc just to the side of Sam's ear.

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).