Tim Dowling: skiing ? a slippery slope to financial ruin

'Every time someone shows me a bill I have to resist the urge to let my mouth hang open. By the time we hit the slopes I am thinking only of the hard times ahead'My wife has holiday plans: she is staying home, alone, while the rest of us go skiing. She has overcome my grave reservations by organising everything, and because she is not coming on the trip herself, she has not been afraid to economise.This may be why our destination is a six-hour drive from the airport where we landed, and why our two-room apartment comes equipped with very little. This is how I find myself shopping for bare essentials early on Easter morning. A few shops are open, but none is the kind that will sell me a washing-up brush.Skiing remains an inherently expensive pastime. Every time someone shows me a bill I have to resist the urge to let my mouth hang open. By the time we hit the slopes I am thinking only of the hard times ahead. By the time our first lunch is paid for I feel obliged to conceal from my children the fact that we are ruined."After that lunch we don't really need supper," I say to the older two that afternoon. "Just some basics ? milk, wine, a washing-up brush." Eventually we find an open shop."Here," the middle one says, pulling scouring sponges from a shelf."That's a packet of three," I say. "We just need one cheap brush.""Don't even pretend you don't want these," he says.When we get back to the apartment my wife calls."How's it going?" she says."There has been some challenging behaviour," I say. "And some unforeseen expense." I put a brave face on everything. Later we receive a Skype call on the laptop from my family in America, who appear to spending Easter drinking champagne in the sunshine while my nephew burbles contentedly in his car seat."We're in Italy," I say. "Skiing.""Don't break anything," my sister says."We always do," I say. It's only later I realise she meant bones, whereas I was thinking of cups, chairs and light fittings.After a quiet meal of chocolate eggs, we turn on the television and pass the time revoicing an Italian-dubbed episode of NCIS back into English, taking charge of a character apiece. I play the sombre head agent trying to solve the mystery of a corpse found in the woods while his colleagues giggle, swear profusely and spontaneously declare their desire to have sex with one another."Enough!" I say finally. "It is time to wash up. There is a scouring sponge for each of you, just like the royal family have.""I need to charge my phone first," the middle one says."I need to charge my iPod," the youngest says."It's my turn to charge," the oldest says."I am charging the laptop," I say, snatching our only European adaptor from the youngest one's hand, "because I have to get up before dawn and write my column, and I'm worried about it.""What's it gonna be about?" the middle one says."I don't know," I say. "That's why I'm worried." I push the adaptor into the socket upside down. There is a loud sparking sound, and all the power in the apartment goes dead. We stand in the pitch black for a moment, in silence."Why don't you write about this?" the middle one says. Something like a guitar string snaps in my head."This?" I shriek. "I can't write about this! I can't write about anything, because there's no electricity!"Somewhere behind me I can hear the youngest one trying to suppress a fit of laughter. There, in the dark, I promise God that if he gives me a better idea for a column by morning I will never go skiing again.FamilySkiingTim Dowlingguardian.co.uk © 2012 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

hiking hiking holidays Finland hiking holidays Kuusamo hiking