by Alan Goodwin

Created on: August 14, 2009   Last Updated: August 15, 2009

Watching my brother-in-law-to-be, all 19 and a half stone of him, slide gracefully across the piste, I began to wonder if spending my stag weekend skiing in the Cairngorms was such a great idea.

Ordinarily, seeing a pal skiing makes me feel warm inside because it generally means I'm skiing too, and I love a bit of snow action I do. This time, however, was different. Surreal almost. My impending newest relative did slide gracefully, being the accomplished skier he is. It's just that he was going diagonally backwards, uphill, looking as bemused as it is possible to look when you're wrapped up like a polar explorer.

We'd flown as a group of 6 from Luton to Inverness with easyjet, and were meeting a further 2 of our party at the house we'd rented for the weekend. They'd flown from Manchester with BMi, on an aircraft that still relied on propellers to get airborne. Our flight felt like a short hop, a mere hour and 5 minutes, and the village of Kingussie, our base for the next 3 nights, was a further 40 minute drive down the A9. All very easy. It's hard to get lost when you only have one road to follow. Their flight was even shorter, but felt like a lifetime, and Kingussie in the dark is very dark indeed. It's apparently very easy to get lost even though you only have one road to follow.

Given the weather conditions in the fortnight building up to the weekend, where the whole of London became wedged in their houses, buried in 4 inches of deep, unrelenting snow showers, we were all hopeful of an enjoyable weekend of solid UK skiing. Flying smugly in the face of the doubters who spurn Scotland to hop over to the much more snow-sure Alps, Pyrenees or Dolomites for their annual ski holidays.

For two excited weeks, I was on all manner of webcam sites looking at snowbound roads, white-out mountain conditions, and full car parks.
Upon arrival, it appeared there had been an overnight thaw of epic proportions. Sure, there was snow here and there, but the roads were clear and every field we drove past was green and brown. Not white, not like they should be.

From our party of 8, we had 4 experienced(ish) skiers and boarders, 3 complete beginners, and one who'd broken himself a week earlier slipping on the now fast disappearing ice. For the beginners, I'd pre-booked ski lessons with www.theskischool.co.uk, at a pretty reasonable rate of 40 per person for a full day (4 hour) group tuition. In France, they would probably have ended up in a mixed group of 12. Here in Scotland,

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