Christmastide .. .. .. season of goodwill and joy to all mankind .. .. .. especially true if your definition of goodwill is a psychotic desire to mow down fellow shoppers in a bid to clear the department stores of boxed sets of socks and smellies, and if you believe that the true meaning of joy is the sudden compulsion to participate in ridiculous and dangerous pastimes in an attempt to be ‘festive’. My first Christmas in London proved to be the most bewildering and laughable experiences in my 24 years!!

As soon as the calendar page flips to December 1st madness descends upon the capital. Overnight, sane and rational beings are transformed into psychotic madmen hell-bent on snapping up all the seasonal patterned jumpers in BHS to inflict on a variety of reviled relatives. Supermarkets, normally filled with the basic foodstuffs necessary for survival, are suddenly overflowing with mince pies, hormone filled frozen poultry, super sized string bags of sprouts and steel drums full of Quality Street. Radios blare out Slade and Wizzard in an attempt to induce mass suicide among the populous. Churches suddenly fill with ‘devout’ worshippers, who are prodded out of their year long religious amnesia by the emergence of advent calendars and Christmas cards in their local newsagents. Ice rinks appear throughout the city and people flock to them in droves, full of hopes of traditional winter gaiety and the chance to prove, once and for all, that they could be the next Torvill or Dean.

It is the latter phenomenon that bewildered me the most. I was an ice virgin, having always held the deep-rooted belief that had some divine being wanted us to walk on ice we’d have been born with crampons and snow shoes. However, I’m always game for a laugh and so when my colleagues suggested some winter fun down at Somerset House I happily agreed. We walked into the courtyard and I was breathtaken by the scene before me. Flaming torches flickered in the chilly winter breeze, lighting the way for the beautiful couples who glided in perfect elegant unison across the glistening ice. Works by Haydn and Mozart were piped out from hidden speakers, giving the illusion of a film soundtrack being played out. Spectators huddled together, clutching steaming cups of mulled wine and spiced cider. Laughter perforated the air. I stood watching, spellbound, picturing myself dancing gracefully across the ice as my colleagues looked on in wonder and admiration. I knew it was my destiny to become mistress of the ice.

This deep-set belief stayed with me until a millisecond after I stepped onto the ice. Suddenly, all I knew about physics, kinetics and motion was turned completely upside down, and sane and rational thought was replaced by abject terror and a knowledge that death was just slightly too close at hand.

Imagine, if you will, an elephant. I’m sure you’ll agree that, in the right context, the elephant is a supremely graceful and serene creature, a thing of elegance and beauty. Now I must trouble you to turn that image widdershins, and give your imaginary elephant a pair of ice skates and set it loose on the slipperiest surface on the planet. All sense of elegance and grace is abandoned, and lumbering chaos ensues - the weight and form of the elephant is entirely at odds with the physical attributes necessary for ice skating. This should give you some idea of how well my body adapted to being on the ice.

As soon as my skates made contact with the ice my entire being was thrown into utter fear and confusion. Suddenly the world was no longer stable beneath my feet, and some force of pure evil was ensuring that I was still moving forwards even when I was standing still. In wild panic I grabbed hold of the side with both hands and pulled myself along, one hand over the other, snarling at the smug seven year olds who were gliding past me like mini-Olympians. I made it about 2 feet before I stood, frozen in fear, as behind me a large traffic jam of skaters piled up, waiting to overtake me. I shrieked as I felt a tap on my back, and I gingerly turned to see a very small child tugging gently on my coat. ‘I need to get past’ the child whimpered. I was transformed, beset with red eyes and wild hair, and like mad Mrs Rochester I growled “I ain’t budging kid”, my voice akin to Linda Blair in the Exorcist. The child could clearly see that I was psychologically very wonky, and this spurred her into action. She sped off across the ice, wailing like a banshee, into the waiting open arms of her father who looked at me with a mix of anger and pity. Sobs welled up in my throat, and, like a miserable creature condemned, I made to get myself to my friends who were waiting patiently having done at least three rounds of the ice each.

Twenty minutes later they were still waiting, watching in dismay and disbelief as I pulled myself along, both feet together, swearing like a navvie and shrieking at my friend not to leave me alone to die. ‘Just let go for a second’ coaxed my friend ‘and put your feet in a V position. You’ll stay still’. ‘Are you CRAZY’ I howled at her ‘Let go? LET GO?????!!!! LET GOOOOOOOOO???!!! Clearly you have lost your mind’. She balked and skated a little further away. ‘I promise’ she said, fixing me with a firm glare. I was just beginning to pull my fingers from the railing that they were clawed stiffly round, when a nerve-shattering ‘THWOCK!!’ reverberated around the rink and the ice shuddered alarmingly. I looked round and was faced with a scene of complete carnage. Men, women and children lay piled up on the ice, groaning gently and trying to extract themselves from the heap of bodies. I whimpered and I redoubled my grip on the railing, legs locked in terror. It was becoming abundantly clear that I was unlikely to be chosen for the next Winter Olympics.

A colleague skated over - ‘You’re doing fine’ she said. ‘It’s perfectly bloody obvious I’m not!’ I barked. ‘Errrr .. .. well .. .. you’re .. ummm .. you’re doing fine!’ she improvised. I glared at her, doing my best to look furious at her impudence. The effect was completely ruined, however, by my feet sliding in opposite directions while I stumbled like Bambi and tried to regain my footing. My colleagues placed a hand firmly under each elbow and hauled me to my feet, whence I lurched forward suddenly, arse in the air and feet flailing uselessly as they tried to get a purchase on the ice. As I was once again hauled upright I was aware of a small crowd gathering, no doubt taking advantage of the free slapstick comedy show! My eyes filled with tears and I looked pleadingly at my colleagues .. .. ‘Please get me off this bloody stuff’ I begged.
So began a painstakingly slow journey across the rink, both women supporting either side of my rigid body. One held my hand firmly while the other whispered ‘You’re doing fine, you’re doing fine’ like a beautifully soothing broken record. As the exit hove into view relief rushed over me like a warm shower. In my desperation to get off the ice I tried to break into a run. My colleagues looked at each other in exasperation as they held onto my coat tails, while my feet swung back and forth in a bizarre cartoon style run. In a final desperate bid for freedom I threw myself forwards and landed face first in the changing area, my legs akimbo and my colleagues howling with laughter. I peeled the skates from my feet and staggered up to the desk to retrieve my shoes. The attendant flashed me a wry smile as he handed my shoes over - ‘You did really well’ he chortled. I grimaced at him, and still muttering obscenities I wobbled off to find my sense of humour, vowing that the next time I ventured near an ice rink I’d be one of the laughing spectators, holding tightly to a glass of mulled wine and even more tightly to my dignity. Elephants just aren’t built for skating.