He saw nothing odd about having a tent at the top of Coire na Ciste, nor in having a dog on his back as he skied. For him it was entirely normal to use the dinner table cutlery for depicting slalom courses, and to leap to his feet wherever he might be able to demonstrate technique. 

Some evenings we would be up till 2am talking about ski-ing. There I would be, in his lounge, boots and skis on, jumping around learning how to distribute weight. Goodness knows what the neighbours thought.

At the Slochd, we all walked uphill for an hour, then Plum said Off you go. I took a particularly good stumble. Sitting up I saw my ski plus boot lying in the snow a few feet in front of me. My God, I thought, my foot has come off. I was so relieved to see my sock-covered pinkies at the end of my leg.