³ÉÈËÂÛ̳

As the evenings get darker and the cold weather really starts to kick, I turn my attention to booking my winter holiday. For some people this means finding the hottest, sunniest climate available for sunbathing and doing not very much, but for me it means finding the snowiest place for launching myself down some ski runs.

Now don't get me wrong - I'm not some disabled person with a double-barrelled surname, who feels compelled to prove that I am just as athletic as 'normal' people by climbing Everest, completing a trek across the Sahara, and rounding things off by sailing round the world single-handed. Oh no!

Actually, I'm really not very athletic at all. But sometimes things happen and you find yourself trying out an activity that was never on your list of things to do. What happened to me was that I started going out with a ski fanatic!

It wasn't a question of learning to ski or I was dumped (well, actually we'll never know that now will we?!) It was more a question of: "This sounds like it could be quite good fun, but can I do it?" My legs don't move or bend in all the 'normal' ways, so was strapping myself onto two planks of plastic and pointing myself down a slope really going to be one of my better ideas?

The first hurdle was to ring up the local dry ski slope. This took me some weeks because I was worried about having to deal with the type of conversation that might ensue on revealing my predicament: "Well, what's wrong with you then? Oooh, I don't know about that ..." Fortunately, there was none of that and it was just a question of booking a lesson.

The first thing I noticed about my new 'hobby' was that the people involved in it tend to be a pretty upfront, non-condescending bunch who like to come up with practical solutions rather than build barriers. So my dry ski slope lessons with my very patient teacher, George, consisted of working our way through every skiing technique in the book - and more.

After some 20 lessons, we had to concede that it still wasn't quite happening. Yet at times there was the odd glimpse of potential success, so we felt it wasn't quite time to give up. Then George had a brainwave - he had quite a few of these along the way, but this was one of his better ones.

He suggested that I should go and see Mike Hammond, a former paralympic skier. This was more like it! There was no messing with Mike; he just said: "You need some wedges on your skis and some outriggers." Out-what? 'No-messing-Mike' had spotted a fundamental problem, which was that when I was in my skis they weren't flat on the ground - and this is rather crucial to the art of skiing.

So with the help of a plastic bread-board, my partner made me wedges that fitted between my skis and the bindings (the things that clip your boots to the skis). With my skis flat on the ground, this was Step One completed. Step Two was for Mike to make me some outriggers, which are basically crutches with small skis on the bottom; these would enable me to put my weight forward and turn more consistently and successfully.

We'd cracked it! A further two lessons with Mike and I was turning into a pro! Well, I was managing to turn and stop anyway. After so many months, the feeling was very sweet - all except the feeling I had in my finger as I fell over at the end of my very last dry slope run. Fortunately, the ensuing fracture healed in time for my first real go on snow.

First thing first - I had to dress the part. Once kitted out in luminous purple and lime-green jacket plus mirror sunglasses, I was ready for the off! I had a momentary panic as I realised that I was able to turn and stop on a dry ski slope, but what if I couldn't do it on the real thing? I might end up making a real plonkster of myself, proving once and for all that disabled people everywhere really should just wrap themselves up in a nice blanket with a mug of hot chocolate and watch TV.

But I wasn't going to give in. I managed to get myself off the chair-lift without mishap, and then I was there. I was at the top of what seemed to be some sort of sheer cliff of a ski run. I was assured that it was really only a green slope (the easiest type of run possible) and the two-year-olds pelting past me persuaded me that this might just be true. So I gritted my teeth and I was away ... turning ... stopping ... I was skiing! In hindsight, it was in slow motion - but it was perfect!

That was nine years ago. Now, after some 18 ski holidays, my aim is to try to do a new black run - which is the hardest type - every time I go away. So is my motivation for being a skier any better than 'Anthony Smyth-Hitchins' and the like? Well, I'm hoping the difference is that I do it for myself and I'm not trying to prove anything to anyone. It also seems to keep me fit and ... well, I'll admit it, I love drinking and - after skiing - that's the main occupation of any ski holiday!