God, I love skiing.

I mean, this isn't a short term relationship based on beer and lust. No, I have a deep, meaningful love for skiing. In my newly acquired status of 'single', I can see a wonderful future ahead of us.

If only I was any good at it. Lets just say my nickname is "Captain Snowplough" owing to my somewhat agricultural method of getting from point A to point B on the slope.

Yesterday was on the indoor white stuff. I've not inflicted myself upon virgin mountain snow for a couple of years. In fact, the last time I did so I ended up suspended from a tree by a ski with my head pointed down a black run. A couple of Germans who had clearly popped out of the womb with planks of wood strapped to their feet almost died laughing as they sped by.

I comforted myself with the knowledge that Germany is the biggest marketplace for David Hasslehoff records. Any revenge of which I could have thought pales into insignificance against such a fact.