'Splintering away from the strangely geometric frozen wall to my right, a chunk of ice fell across the mountain path. Somehow, despite the increasing precariousness of my position, I felt annoyed by the way it had spilled out, spoiling the polished neatness of the piste. Puffs of snow spray, diamond dust in the dying of the day, scorched my cheeks and blurred my already rather watery eyes. Now, as the last of the sun disappeared behind cordite-coloured clouds, I bitterly regretted the call of nature and the subsequent tassle with the straps of my salopettes that had resulted in me becoming painfully entangled in a young pine tree and separated from my companions. Dusting my face and woolly hat, I sighed and slid on...Bloody skiing.' Will Randall has gone to live in a village in the French Alps in order to write and ski (although probably not in that order). His adventures both on the slopes and in the strange, romantic mountain commmunity are beautifully and wittily documented and will win him yet more fans as one of our most entertaining and warm-hearted travel writers.