Skiing obviously wasn't my thing.
Having just spent the last four hours being poked and prodded by the Mont Blanc medical team to assess for life threatening damage, breaks and fractures only to be told that my injuries consisted of what turned out to be a number of painful but not "important enough to bother and waste the valuable time of the busy medics with" bruises we eventually get discharged and told to be more careful in our ski slope run selection next time.
I only crashed because you were making me laugh, each arm flailing like a demented Catherine wheel as your balance was going. You looked like a bright blue windmill slowly intent on destroying anything in its haphazard path as you weaved randomly down the hill.
It was fortunate for me I was behind you, mainly because my skills and expertise with the skis could be transcribed onto a grain of rice but also because I had already lost one pole and had no idea how to steer or stop.
I would have thought that the white fluffy snow would have been soft and like a cold feather filled duvet to fall into. Unfortunately my duvet seemed to be filled with frozen rocks!
Just as I saw you glide effortlessly into the plastic safety barriers I managed to get one ski caught under the other and proceeded to then tie the lower half of my body into a strange contortionists knot.
I was pretty sure I was dead, it was dark, cold and there was lots of pain.
There was also laughing and a lot of swearing, I later found out most of the swearing was me. I didn't even know I could swear in fluent French how bizarre!
Eventually light returned to my world, removal of snow from my goggles sorted that out and then it was just cold and painful. But again that was to be expected as I had just skied somehow in reverse into the hardest substance in my world.
The next few minutes were a bit of a blur, a mass of people shouting in French with some broken English instructions of stay still as well wishing onlookers then medics fussed over the crumpled heap that was me mixed with some skis and as it turns out a picnic bench which is what the hard snow turned out to be.
But that was four long hours ago and now having been given a clean but embarrassing bill of health we were walking into our snug log cabin that was ours for the whole week.
Our cabin was nicely equipped without going over the top, three rooms. A large living room/kitchen with a huge open wood burner, comfy sofas covered in soft warm blankets and cushions, large high glass windows looking out over the mountain and some distant ski runs and the most important feature on any holiday a well stocked bar counter.
The open stairs led up to the balcony style bedroom which is dominated by a four poster bed, hand carved from some worn and weathered wood, polished smooth over the years possibly mahogany. The bed strategically facing the high windows giving unprecedented views and providing a very romantic setting.
The final room was the bathroom, clean, white and functional with the bonus of having under floor heating so the room was always toasty warm.
As we slowly entered the cabin, me moving very gingerly, you guided me to the soft expansive sofa and gently deposited me in a heap amongst the soft and numerous cushions. Then proceeding to remove my outdoor boots and coat before turning to throw a couple of sizable logs onto the slumbering fire.
The throbbing sensations emanating from the backs of my thighs and bum an insistent reminder of my first proper skiing mishap, and in my current state of mind probably my last.
You returned a few minutes later having shed your outdoor waterproof, windproof, thick, warm ski clothes with a large glass of mulled wine, steam drifting casually up leaving an aroma of spice and red wine mixing in the air.
You were still failing miserably to hide the amusement on your face from the farce we had been through today but how could I even think of being annoyed or cross when your eyes shine so pretty with a depth that makes me want to swim in your gaze and forget everything else outside, when I look at you I met and even the bruise on my ass fades into non-existence.
You have stripped out of your ski gear and thrown a loose pair of jeans and short sleeve t-shirt on, comfortable that the heat being generated from the burner will keep you warm enough.
Now you turn your attention to me, still fully clothed in ski clobber and beginning to feel a touch warm. You plant a quick kiss on my lips and your eyes burn with mischief as you slip into carer mode and tell me to relax while you take care of me.
This looks promising, my mind immediately thinks and with a few exaggerated winces of pain I watch as you begin to slowly remove my ski gear.
Jacket first, buttons popped one by one from top to bottom then the zip slowly pulled down before being gently coaxed from each arm in turn. Next was my thermal top, pulled carefully up my body then up and over my head leaving me now with just a t-shirt and salopettes.
I sip my warm wine and let the liquid defrost me from the inside as it slides down my throat, my gaze never leaving you as your hands work your way to my waist to pull on my trousers. I lift up slightly allowing the salopettes to be tugged downwards and quickly off my legs.
