Yesterday, I got back from a wonderful five days in Wales. B and I went to stay with friends there – eight grown ups and two small children in a 350-year-old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere in the rolling hills and postcard valleys of Powys.

It was mostly spent as all good holidays in rural idylls in the middle of winter should be spent – mainlining food, starting drinking with breakfast*, and sitting in a variety of comfy chairs of varying distance from an always-roaring fire. In honesty I’m not sure there is a scenario in which I could be happier.

The only respite from atherosclerosis and diabeetus was two glorious afternoons spent sledding in the neighbouring field. Our hosts had a couple of sledges and the snow was 6 inches or so deep, utterly virgin, and the field was hell of steep. The sleds were tricky to control but after a bit of trial and error we more or less figured out how to descend without falling off – until we hit a rut or a tassock or a surprise hole, anyway.

Here are links to a couple of videos of, respectively, John and his wee girl Olivia, and our host Tom. I didn’t manage to capture any speedy or spectacular runs, but Tom and I managed to take it up a notch or two – as you will see below (photos courtesy of a no doubt chortling Bree):

1. In the process of falling off:

2. Where I ended up after big fall number 1 (the sled is still stuck on the offending tuffet – NB that is all roll, no sliding):

And here, to give a better idea of just quite how much fun we were having, is the view from near the top of Sledge Mountain:

More pics on my Flickr. Can you tell we had fun?

*exaggerating for effect here – in fact only once did we even drink at lunchtime. We made up for it most evenings, though (except for Bree who, I fear, has turned into a Mormon)

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