Trees, blue sky and snow jostled for position in my field of view as I slid backwards in a vague upside down W shape, trying to arrest my fall. It couldn't go on forever - I knew the slope levelled out eventually - though it would possibly be long enough for my whole life to flash before my eyes, in slow motion.

I tried - in vain, as it happened - to dig something Into the slope, a ski, a pole, tried to twist on my side o give less sliding surface area (scientific principles were fighting with the album of my life for attention), but in the end it was my right thumb that stopped me. Well, it certainly feels like it.

Yes, we have started the ski holiday, except in my case, having started it, I couldn't find the brakes. Everything began well enough; we arrived at Oulx station in northern Italy, caught the bus up to the Sauze D'Oulx resort, and after some geophysics and orienteering managed to locate the apartments. By which time it was dark, but we could tell we were in a nice town, and there were lots of people traipsing around in ski attire, indulging in the Friday apres-ski, for which the town provides multiple bars, restaurants and pizza places.

We helped the local supermarket owner towards a very comfortable retirement, and settled in for the night. Or rather Catherine settled ind I went out to find wifi so I could post yesterday's blog. Blow me down if the wifi I found wasn't in a bar. Who'd have thought? So I was forced to have a glass of vino bianco. Well, two glasses, let's be honest.

I like arriving at a place in the dark because you can't really tell what your surroundings are like. We knew we were in an alpine resort, but had no idea just how lovely it was until we drew back the shutters and curtains this morning. Catherine was up early enough to see the sun kiss the tops of the summits, I was up late enough to see it ravishing the rest. The snow beckoned. 'Come to me!' It said. 'Plant your poles in my skin and massage me with your skis and snowboards.' Maybe.

We decided not to rush things, and spent the morning organising lift passes and ski hire (for me, C has her own snowboard with her), and topping up the supermarket owner's pension funds again.

So it was one o'clock when we finally 'hit the slopes' (I use the term in both senses), and were relieved to find the snow in good condition, and lots of it. An added bonus was that it was beautifully sunny, warm, and with a sky best viewed from upside down sliding down a mountainside. I did my best.

Let's just make one thing very clear: it is 13 years since I skied (see what I did there? That could be pronounced 'skeed' or sky-ed. Yeah? Never mind...) so it was a mixture of bravado and wobbly knees that I approached today's adventure. Problem is, I didn't take up skiing until I was in my mid-30s, and can only be classed as intermediate at best. In reality I am -especially after this lapse - more of an advanced beginner. But let's clip into our skis and push off shale we?

Things have changed since I last hired skis. In Queenstown or Whakapapa you manually filled in your details on a card, which some ski-hire bunny then took away and came back with the right gear. Now all I have to do is tap all my details onto a screen, which prints out a summary of what I need, and -at least it's not a robot - a ski-hire bunny selects the goods.

Grazie, grazie, molto grazie signor, and there I was meeting up with C the Snowboarder outside again. We walked to the not-too-distant chairlift (I say walked, but if you've ever perambulated in ski boots you'll know it is more of a stumble/zombie shuffle). Anyway, we made it to the quad lift and, after snapping into my 1.55 skis we were swept off our feet, literally, and up into the air as the chairlift conveyed us up the mountainside.

Below we could see skiers of all abilities, ages and stages snaking their way down the pistes, and snowboarders too, who seem to be the ski slope equivalent of trucks. Around us fir trees doppled the mountainside, and behind us the snow-covered mountains presented a backdrop worthy of the Sound of Music. It was perfect.

We elected to get off at the first opportunity and just ski/board down the 'easy' run, neither of us wanting to take on too much of a challenge on Day One. I loved watching Catherine snowboarding. I'd taught her to ski when she was about 12, but a few years ago she decided to transfer her allegiance to he board. Last year she even took herself off to Japan for a month's snowboarding, without knowing anyone there or even a word of Japanese. That's my gal. Anyway, she is confident, and it was obvious just watching her that we would soon be splitting up, but she very kindly today made a point of staying with me as I tentatively snaked my way down.

Actually, my first two runs were quite good, and incident-free. I certainly wasn't Olympic quality, but I was nervously enjoying it, and particularly the novelty of skiing down a tree-covered mountainside, which is something you can't do in New Zealand where I had learned to ski. The tree line there ends before the pistes start, so you are usually skiing on a bare mountainside.

Having conquered the learner slope we decided to try higher up, and took two chairlift rides to around 25,000 feet. Well, it felt like it, but the start of the run was actually quite gentle. Until about half way down, when I lost it in a turn. I tipped over, poles skyward, me on my back, turning upside down in the process and sliding endlessly backwards downhill.

It's not the first time I've fallen on skis, but it is the first time I've wondered whether I was ever going to stop sliding. Nothing I tried had any effect, but eventually, three weeks later, I came to a stop.

Two trees came and helped me up, NorwegianI I think, and kindly recovered my poles from two miles back up the mountain. After that it was much more cautious M Bodnar that wove his way down, finally reuniting with daughter Catherine, who had married and had two children in the interim.

On the principle that you should always get back on the horse as soon as possible, I did another run down the easy slope, and regained some confidence. My slide hadn't caused any lasting damage apart from a sprained thumb, a bruised ego, and a lost pair of reading glasses that now won't be found until some goatherd shepherd stumbles across them this coming summer.

Deciding it was time to stop and assess my physical and mental health I elected to pause at a mountainside hostelry for a glass of wine while Catherine went on to snowboard five more peaks. I took the opportunity to scoop up some snow and apply it to the bruised thumb while ingesting the white medicine.

C joined me for a beer and sympathy, and then we did a couple more runs, during one of which I slipped on a patch of ice and crashed down on my left thigh. The bruise tomorrow will rival the blue of the sky today.

I am knackered. Every part of me aches. My thumb throbs and my thigh bone is sticking through my thermal long-Johns. Other than that I'd give the first day of skiing the thumbs up. If I could.

PS: the photo is one from Offexploring's library as the app wouldn't let me load my own. Thumbs down to that!