“Big plough, Patricia, big plough and lean to the left,” yelled the ski instructor as I casually hurtled past him, skis crossed in front of me and my speed showing no discernible sign of decreasing.

“But, I am big ploughing,” I thought as I continued racing downhill. I am big ploughing and I am leaning to the left. So why aren’t I turning and, more crucially, why on earth aren’t I stopping?

Clearly something was very much amiss.

A millisecond later, I began to veer to the left. “Aha,” I thought. “Success at last.” However, any relief was short-lived as I quickly realised I had now set myself on a collision course with the other members of my beginners group who, having successfully completed the “small plough, big plough exercise” before me, were now neatly lined up in single file at the bottom of the nursery slope.

“Time for a quick mental recap,” I thought, trying not to panic.

Little plough ... lean forward ... big plough ... lean to the left ... turn ... dig your heels in ...stop. It all sounded simple enough — so why wasn’t it working?

The last thing I remember as I flailed desperately towards my fellow novice skiers was the look of absolute horror and disbelief on their faces. Like rabbits trapped in car headlights, not one of them knew what to do. “Big plough,” some of them feebly tried to encourage. “BIG PLOUGH,” others shouted.

But it was no use. I had to wait for gravity and the unintentionally-formed human crash net to stop me. Which it did. But not before I’d hurled myself clumsily into them, wobbling, stumbling and scrambling as I was brought to a complete standstill. It was all rather messy, undignified and embarrassing. But thankfully, I managed to avoid taking any further casualties with me. Well, that time anyway. You see, for anyone who hasn’t yet tried their hand at skiing, let me tell you the plain fact of the matter — skiing isn’t quite as easy and effortless as the professionals make it look.

In order to get to the level where you can elegantly slalom down the mountainside, creating the much sought after “whooshing sound” and a fine arc of snow spray behind you takes time, practice and the ability to repeatedly pick yourself up after falling flat on your face.

It requires precision and timing. You need to be fit and co-ordinated, with a limitless and unstoppable supply of energy. But can someone explain how they manage to look so infuriatingly relaxed about it?

Yet despite all of this, or maybe in spite of it, I was more than willing to shake off the Christmas indulgence and put my out-of-shape body through its paces.

Which was why, a few days earlier I found myself sitting on a coach out of London, passport in hand and a ridiculously optimistic and excited grin on my face. I was en-route to the Austrian Tirol, cheerily leaving behind the stresses of everyday London life — tubes, crowds and frantic commuters — and eagerly looking forward to whatever adventures a winter holiday would bring.

The next day I arrived, albeit a little travel weary, in Hopfgarten, a picturesque, typically Tirolean village at the foot of the Hohe Salve mountain.

Replete with the obligatory wooden chalets, the village is as friendly as it is quaint, and has not been tainted by the influx of tourism.

Villagers still greet each other and tourists alike with the customary “Grüß Gott” or the less formal “Servus” when they pass in the street.

New chalets are required to be made of 35 per cent wood in accordance with tradition, similar in appearance to neighbouring properties (so as not to stick out as an eye sore) and, prior to occupation, must stand empty for one summer and one winter to ensure that they can cope with the temperature extremes.

The sprawling village is steeped in local culture and traditions, and is named after hop cultivation and breweries in the region (“Hopf” means hops). Hopfgarten dates back to 1362 and the Catholic church of St Leonhard (the patron saint of miners) forms the backbone of the community, a reminder of the village’s copper and silver mining past, while the cluster of local shops which sell everything from the latest ski suits to the traditional Tracht or Dirndl, still observe the “Mittagsruhe” (siesta) between noon and 3pm.

Ski enthusiasts are attracted in their droves to the area. Everywhere you look, brightly clad skiers dot the rugged white and green landscape with clusters of red, blue and magenta and range from nervous first timers to amazingly adept old hands.

The surrounding mountain range forms part of the “SkiWelt” (ski world) region of Austria, the largest connected skiing area in Europe and offers more than 250km of skiable piste.

During the day, Hopfgarten is deserted as skiers catch a ride on the non-stop succession of ski lifts to the top of the mountains and try their hand on the blue (beginners), red (intermediate) or black (advanced) runs.

But come 4pm when the lift attendants clock off for the day, it’s a different story. Everyone remembers the other reason why they’ve come and heads over to the notorious Silver Bullet bar for a spot of circulation-reviving après ski.

Schnapps drinking is very much de rigeur at this time and Austria can boast a myriad of flavours, ranging from fruity concoctions like banana and apple to after dinner, herbal digestives such as the legendary Jägermeister.

However, a quick word of warning before you dive in head first — the deceptively sweet and fruity little numbers are more potent than you’d think. And you won’t discover this until the next morning on the piste.

However, if you do find you’ve fallen prey to a right stinker, the best remedy is to quite literally head for the skies. As well as being a skiers’ mecca, Hopfgarten offers tandem parasailing flights for anyone foolhardy enough to put their life into the hands of a man that they’ve only just met. As I fitted this description more than admirably, I decided to give it a whirl.

The rudiments of tandem parasailing are simple enough — strap yourself to the instructor, wait for the wind and run off the side of the mountain until airborne. The actuality, however, is a tad more daunting.

Yet, the exhilaration of take off, the sensation of floating freely down a snow-capped mountainside high above the multi-coloured, ant-like skiers, and the ridiculously invigorating feeling you have when you finally land, easily counters any initial doubts.

And what’s more, it also gives you a bird’s eye view of the best, and thus most infuriating, skiers on the piste taking a tumble. Which to my mind, was well worth the £60 price tag alone.