So long snow – we are off to the piste

13 April 2012

I can highly recommend City Airport on a Sunday. We passed through on our way to Geneva feeling very smug. London last weekend — if you can remember that far back — was wintry grey, and we were en route to the slopes, na na na na na! — where the conditions were apparently legend.

Passing through customs, we were halted by two uniformed officers. "Are you carrying more than £100,000 sterling in cash, in bonds, or any other instrument of value?" they asked. I almost fell over laughing. Only hours before, ie on tax day 31 January, I'd paid over all my worldly goods to the Inland Revenue.

After I had wiped away the tears of mirth, I was composed enough to ask why they'd asked. Their eyes narrowed. "We are following the Proceeds of Crime Act," they said, looking important.

Well, about time. I hope that this might mean the noose is tightening around the bankers, especially now my tax bill is helping to pay their bonuses.

Somehow, it was hard for our party not to feel a teensy bit cheesed off sending texts from Haute-Savoie to our children, all of whom were off school, lying around eating pizza in front of the TV, asking them: "How is the snow in London?"

It was blowing a gale in Val d'Isère, and crawling with gendarmes. Sarkozy and Carla were — it was rumoured — arriving to open the world ski championships here (and I did wonder whether the signs on the pistes commanding skiers "moderez votre allure!" were really a coded message for La Bruni).

After a couple of runs we piled into a place called La Fruitière. It was really quite good. When the bill came, it was 470. Oh well. For us middle-aged occasional skiers, you have to calculate that it's more about the lunch than anything else.

Next day, we pitched up at La Becca. Land Rovers branded with the logo of the British Ski Team were parked outside the hotel. Within, our top female skier, Chemmy Alcott, was tucking into guinea fowl and polenta at the next-door table.

Being more of a social Alpinist than the others, I made myself known to her. Turned out we'd watched her come 20th that day in the women's downhill slalom (she passed in a blur of skis and rock-hard thighs). "Brilliant!" I gushed, feeling pride. As well as being our best skier, Chemmy is also ridiculously pretty. Meanwhile, the well-oiled men at our table kept their end up too. They muttered audibly about taking Chemmy off piste and showing her how it's really done "in the A-team".

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