Manon has got a big job on her hands - and her face tells me she knows it.
This poor French ski instructor has just been handed the not inconsiderable task of transforming me into someone who won’t be a liability on the less challenging runs of La Plagne.
And things are already off to a less than auspicious start.
Overconfidence from a single day of ski school has encouraged me to foolishly try to manoeuvre my way to our rendezvous with my skis on.
A perfectly-timed slip later and Manon arrives to find me flapping around like a fish out of water, unable to get upright or remove the skis, without a shred of dignity left to hold on to.
It is from this unfortunate position that I introduce myself as her new pupil.
Welcome to the world of the novice skier.
And yet who would have thought that in just a few days I’d be swooping through alpine glades of La Plagne like a Mancunian Eddie the Eagle?
You should always try new things, they say, and so despite having never really had the inclination to strap on a pair of skis and throw myself headfirst down a mountain, I found myself on route to La Plagne, a rather chic resort in the French Alps.
In truth, I’d always considered skiing to be what the posh kids did at half term, but determined to give it a try after suspecting it offered the three key factors that make cycling weekends in the Lake District a favourite pastime: spectacular scenery, moderate exercise and excessive drinking.
Back in January when corona was a brand of pop and Covid-19 just a twinkle in the eye of a Wuhanese bat, I arrived at Chalet Florence to find a smart, open plan lodge and the five other couples we were going to share the next week with.
Equipped with a log fire, cosy sofas and most importantly hosts Sam and Jen, who were set to discover would cater to our every whim, it is the perfect base to launch an poorly-prepared, mountain-side mission.
It’s tucked away in the scenic Plagne 1800 resort, one of eleven villages dotted around the main La Plagne centre, which has a regular circular bus service making it easy to get around.
What I’m most keen to do is get up and explore the expansive freedom of the mountain tops where I’m told its possible to travel along 140 kilometres of slopes, with the aid of 36 chair lifts and 38 drag lifts.
It’s a place dotted with the kind of ultra-cool bars built on mountain ledges from which videos are posted of glamorous people in brightly-coloured padded catsuits dancing on tables, compounding the winter gloominess when you are sat at work on a miserable Tuesday afternoon.
But first I need the skills to hit the hills, and it’s not been a great start.
The opening day at ski school left me feeling like a tot trying to take its first steps.
And, worse, I wake up at 3am with an inexplicable, agonising leg pain, which keeps me out of action for the next two days. After some ice treatment and help from a masseuse from Massage Me though, I’m soon back in action on the baby slopes.
My ski school peers have all moved on the runs of more challenging hues, so after some negotiation with organisers Oxygene, I have landed the services of Manon to get me up to speed.
The blue-jacketed ski instructors are like gods around here, trained like Olympians they know the mountains like the back of their hands and are somehow able to swoop backwards in front of me and bring me safely to a halt on the regular occasions my downward speed slips dangerously out of control.
Manon doesn’t help my inferiority complex by telling me that in the summer months she relocates to the French Basque coast to teach surfing.
“Ted, why do you not parallel?” she enquires through her exasperated southern French accent.
This is concerning in two ways.
One my name isn’t Ted - in fact, bizarrely that’s my dad’s name - but she’s struggled to say Gareth and misheard when I suggested she use my nickname Tid instead.
The other is that I was convinced I was paralleling, and pretty damn well too.
Unfortunately it seems I've not progressed past the more basic slow plough technique.
But it isn’t long until we are jumping on and off the ski lifts and heading for the rolling mountain tops where ice capped mountains glisten as far as the eye can see under crisp, blue skies.
It’s a breath-taking sight, and it’s easy to see why people head here year after year to experience it.
In truth I have only one unpleasant crash, well if you don’t include the occasion when I decide the best way to stop myself is to head straight into the nearest snow drift creating a Wile E. Coyote-style style hole in it in the process.
Bones may take a little longer to mend, but injured pride can quickly be patched up with a spot of apres ski.
As a novice I’d always thought the term referred to any kind of evening refreshment, when in fact it refers specifically to those hours between the sun going down and dinner being served in the chalets.
Wander into any bar during this time and you’re set for an afternoon time to remember.
Sometimes there’ll be a band on, but there’ll always be a crowd of merry-making, thirsty skiers rounding down the sense of exhilaration an afternoon on the piste gives you with a pint or six.
Then it’s back to the chalet for a restaurant-quality three course meal prepared by our hosts, and plenty of wine.
If skiing turns out not to be your thing, there’s plenty of non alcoholic distractions to fill the time.
An outdoor swim at dusk in the heated pool at Plagne Bellecote is a must, a surreal experience with its spectacular views of the glowing white mountains. Just make sure you add the sauna option so you can get a nice blast of heat when you need it.
La Plagne is also home to France’s only bobsleigh and skeleton track, which you can take a ride on if you decide that hurtling at 150km down a tunnel might be your thing.
We are fortunate that our trip coincides with the Skeleton World Cup, so we can leave that carry on to the experts.
As well as bars, the resort is packed with restaurants and we head out on our hosts’ midweek night off to sample the local delicacy of Raclette, a semi hard cheese that arrives at the table with its own heater and scraped on to the plate as it melts. Every bit as good as it sounds.
All in all, it’s a fantastic start to the year, and I return home uplifted and excited about to discover what other surprises and new experiences 2020 has in store.
