King of the pavement

Snow flakes twice the size of stamps followed by rain. Yesterday was the kind of day that made you want to own one of those huge anti-social umbrellas. You know, the ones that make you king of the pavement, a crusader with an umbrella-shaped shield, the power to repel the rain. The drops are kept at bay, falling so far on the other side of the umbrella that you can imagine you're inside. People have to chart their course along the pavement around you as you sail along in a smug bubble of dry. Selfish, I know, the Umbrella Dream.

Learning curve

Back from skiing. What did I learn? Skiing is like riding a bike, except if you haven't done it for years you will first fall down a mountain into an undignified snowy heap with back-to-front legs before you remember how to do it. Walkie talkies to communicate between groups of skiers may well use the same radio channel as (a) the resort funicular (bet they're missing Funicular FM now!) and (b) the ski-lift operators (cue random French noises). Donkeys can live up mountains. Mulled wine made with rum and energy tablets is a good drink. Button lifts have a life of their own and will hoik you up into the air and throw you back down. Raclette and fondue can induce cheese mania. Ski boots are never your friend. The second-fastest six-seater chairlift in France - an obscure accolade if I ever saw one - is in Isola2000, near Nice. That high up, you can blame anything on the altitude. Walking is hard work after a week strapped to skis.