I have never wanted to go skiing. As a child, it passed me by (too expensive). As an adult, everything about it put me off I would be cold and wet, I wouldn't be able to do it, I would have to spend a fortune on equipment and lug it about, and then I would break my legs. All this went through my head as I rode the cable car up the mountain, leaving behind the lovely town of Morzine with its safe shops selling pointless but pretty things and safe little lodges serving hot chocolate  to certain death. At the top, I was vaguely aware that the view was incredible clear blue skies, pristine peaks, glowing snow but was distracted by the sheer drop to my left, and.

The snowboarders hurtling past on my right. I felt dizzy. How would I ever learn to enjoy this? Thankfully, I was there with Hofnar, a small independent ski travel company that runs special beginners' trips among its programme of snow holidays for people in their 20s and 30s.

These trips are designed to provide a ready-made support group of new friends to learn with, so you don't feel you are holding anyone back or have to listen to seasoned skiers bore on about going off-piste. There were six of us in the group, between the ages of 25 and 36, including a nurse, a tennis coach and a woman who worked in a tattoo parlour, and we were well looked-after by Daniel Janes, an ebullient overgrown schoolboy in his mid-30s, who runs the company. Luckily it was a brilliant group.

Having never stayed in a chalet before, I was hoping for roaring fires and rustic charm, but we were staying in a modern apartment, with single beds in shared rooms. But at least it was in the middle of Morzine, close to the bars and restaurants; on the first night we all went out for dinner and it became clear we would be spending a lot of time together. Although there is no pressure to do everything as one, we ate together in the chalet every night (which costs extra but works out at an incredible £20 for the week, including wine) and usually went on to one of the bars in town.

On the first morning we joined other learners to make a group of about 20, all British and of around the same age, who had booked lessons through the local ski school. And so began the week where I learned to ski. There were falls ("Help! Over here! I think I've broken my arm!" "Then how can you be waving it?"), there were hangovers and hot tears. And eventually fears were conquered.