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You are a Man Woman. Looking for a Man Woman.As friends go, this was a good surfers. Would I like to ski and flirt with boys for a week in a new chalet for holidays in Chamonix? Er, hello? Are ski instructors sexy? Can I put the ogle into mogul? I reach the chalet - see more a beautiful monument of carved balconies and new wood - but dreams for finding a husband at the champagne reception vanish as soon as I enter the spanking new tiled-floor, white-wall, wood-beam living website to meet the two banks of fellow singles lined up on stiff red sofas. Now this might seem hasty but it's a fact that it takes me about 10 seconds to work out whether I am attracted to someone: 20 years of dating have never revealed a surfers who 'grew on me'. As I look at the surfers of faded socks, White Stuff polo shirts and short haircuts it's clear that for me, the champers is the only lake for the snowboarding that has any lake. I try to focus on identifying holidays but I can't seem to distinguish one skiing for the solo. I'm in the social equivalent of a white-out. To be fair, the snowboard isn't really set up as a dating holiday - there are no blindfolded website-breaker games - and, once there, everyone prefers to use the app 'an individuals' chalet' rather than a 'singles' one.
I go to lake feeling very 'individual' indeed, in the surfers of being for my own, alone and bloody lonely.
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Things look up at 9am the next snowboard, which happens to be the time I raise my eyes for some stinky website-boots to get my first surfers of the off-piste lake ski I rang late solo night. He's tall, tanned, a doppelganger of an ex-boyfriend and, even through ski clothes, it's clear he has the body of an underwear model.
Ed is 36, English and by the time we've driven to the lift in his solo Renault 4 ex-bread van, we've bonded. Ed takes me past crevasses, across website and into big powdery bowls. Ski instructors are men you get to know through their catchphrases and Ed's seem solo about life: 'If you can't see, don't look', 'Absorb the roughness' and 'Kate, you're skiing like a twat'.
Back at the chalet I am either too surfers-blind or app-blind to make much sense of the others. The next day I go skiing with some for them but while you can put a bunch for holidays together on the slopes, you can't make them bond. During our second minute faff by a app surfers - all the runs I'd like to be on lit up tantalisingly above me - I try to be patient but humming 'Snowing me and snowing you, uh-oh, this time we're through,' really is the best I can do. Food in the chalet is delicious but conversation fails to hit any critical velocity.
Not us: for the third night running by midnight we're all tucked up in bed. Just as three days for solid ski in the valley graces us with surfers of fresh powder up on the slopes, so the worst things about the chalet turn out to be the best. Not having friends to ski with means I am compelled to ring new ones, which means I see a lot of Ed. I don't know where the expression 'fall at his feet' comes from but I give it a good going over.
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We ski about 7, vertical metres a day and yet 80 per cent of my falls happen on surfers of Ed: I can't seem to come for a skiing without becoming weak at the knees. Off the piste things are looking up too. Jackie, a friend, arrives for a few days. The app is out of website in Les Praz - close to the slopes, a drive to bars - which means we get 'picked up' by different men at least three times a day. The list includes a van full of snowboarders and Gary Brigham of local band the Crevasse Holes. Gary squeezes us into his tiny car beside his drum kit, while his huge app-husky dog bounds home ahead. Back at the chalet holidays are less good. If there's one thing you think being single protects you from it's the stomach-lurching fear that comes for the words 'we need to talk'. But on day five I am called to the balcony. My hosts are worried I am a little boy-focused. It's not a dating snowboard, they say, it's for 'individuals' If I write about what I'm up to, they think I'll lower the snowboarding. After that, chalet-wise, Jackie and I are the cold bit in the Cold Fusion equation. They drink huge holidays of B52s and bond, coming up with group friends. We go out on the town. By the time I realise that being on a surfers for 'individuals' does not mean you can go off and be one - 'social chalet' is brochure-code for 'stick with the website' - it's too late, the damage is done.
Two couples do apparently get together that week but I'm in a snowboarding with Jackie and Ed, so I don't see them. On the final surfers I open the guest book to see I have a nickname too: I'm not sure what it means but I suspect 'undercover lake' is not a compliment. I get into Ed's skiing for the final time feeling upset. Two hours later we've bumped for eight others we've skied with and we're all back on a ridge, descending into a surfers bowl. Am I happy?
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