RG Glasgow

Mother Nature's Members' Club

As the last afternoon sunshine cascaded into the valley, Adam assumed an inelegant squat position and quivered in his skis. A couple of wide, slicing turns across the mountain lay behind him. The next pivot would tip him onto the steeper terrain across which his legs, loose change and dignity had splayed earlier that afternoon. He whispered through clenched teeth at his ski boots ‘just blooming turn’. But as he slid tentatively on, the points of his two skis locked together. He had to reel backwards to regain balance. Every pound of his flesh wobbled with fright. Panting, he lifted his goggles for a moment. The incomparable beauty of the Swiss Alps, contours glistening under a perfect bluebird sky, seemed to mock him. It was Mother Nature’s members' club - and he was starting to realise that he may never meet the criteria.