It had been a long 10 months since I had last clicked into the long planks known as skis.

Today was the day.

The time had come.

My guide for the day was The Electric Biker. We had skied together before.

I knew I was in safe hands.

We were joined in our group by The Duchess and The Ski Machine, two very accomplished snow performers

We were looking good.

Up until the point where I attempted to put on my skis, that is.

The first one clicked nicely into place. The second plank refused to cooperate.

Nothing for it but a return trip to the hire shop for the ski binding to be adjusted.

Repair work duly carried out and we were on our way, winding our way up through snow covered peaks with the help of a ski lift, the feeling of otherworldly paradise returning as we ascended.

Ski lifts are one of lifes better inventions.

And what goes up must come down so we were soon weaving our way back down the piste.

The first run down a ski slope after a long break is always a hesitant one. The ‘ski legs’ have to be re-found. The muscles have to reach back into the memory banks.

Fortunately for My Good Self, the memories came flooding back quite quickly.

The smooth conditions underfoot and the even, bright light made things a lot easier than might otherwise have been the case.

Our group zoomed comfortably around the mountain for the morning, went for a late lunch and in what seemed like no time at all we were back at base, taking off the twin monstrosities known as ski boots.

I thanked my group for their assistance and company.

It had been another beautiful day in paradise.