Tony Hawk, and all the proof I need.

As a man with a well-documented historic inherent inability at anything involving balance, co-ordination and skill, I have learned to avoid such ventures.

I had a brief mid-life crisis around the age of 15, when I realised that I had spent my previous teenage years being a bit of a bookworm and an academic. It was in this time that I began my ill-fated attempt to learn to skateboard.

Spurned on, I think, by the Tony Hawk's skating games, in which a novice needs only press the X button to ollie seven feet into the air without a care in the world, I thought it would be a good idea to break with tradition and try something a little more rebellious.

(Note here that it seems odd that these days, the most rebellious people I know, who, for example, speak out against the government and injustice, are actually just those who were intelligent and worked hard academically. Most of the "rebels" from my youth have taken the seemingly rather tried-and-tested formula of rebelling of: getting a girl pregnant, leaving her when realising the actual workload involving in raising a child, and then attempting to recapture their youth by constantly complaining about work [even though it's probably the only reason they have any friends] and spending all of their free time drinking and taking drugs. Ooh, you rebels. Rebelling just like everyone else.)

Anyway, so I tried to learn to skate.

But I failed.

Tony Hawk had given me a false sense of the amount of dedication merely involved for a teenager just to "go along" to any reasonable level. I also fear that my ever present fear of injury was only magnified by the fear of looking like a prat.

This is one of histories lessons for me:

Adventurous sports, Dave, that require genuine practice and ability, are best left to those who are fueled only by adrenaline and/or weed.

So why then, why, have I caved in and decided to attempt skiing this Saturday?
I'll be venturing to a dry slope (you know, the only way you can actually ski in England) to indulge in a pursuit that I probably wont be very good at.
I've never been skiing before.
It looks lovely in the brochure. I happen to have written a lot of travel guides about all the best places to go, and the kind of fun you're supposed to have.

But I feel like there is a little bit of logic to my plan. Firstly, I can learn in this short 4/5 hour session whether or not I actually enjoy the concept of skiing. This could affect potential future holidays. You see, I'm already injecting ruthless logic.

Also, I think it is somewhat of a basic survival instinct too.

I should learn to ski.

Just in case...

Just in case I'm a secret agent on the slopes of the alps being chased by angry Russians with sub-machine guns. Using my skills which I honed on the infamous dry slopes of Mount UK, I would evade capture and maybe trick a snowmobile into driving into a tree.

In my mind, you'll notice, I have become James Bond.

I feel like in reality, my experiences on the slopes are perhaps likely to be more akin to someone like James Joyce, who would likely:

a) be confused of his obscure location
b) be overwhelmed by a sense of both fear, and futility
c) rather be sitting at home writing.