Nature v Nurture Part 2

Surely this makes me a bad parent. Clearly I've put the hex on my child with negative vibes about his laissez-faire lifestyle.

What's more, once I was reassured by my wife - who saw the whole thing happen - that he was okay, I let out a huge, selfish sigh of relief that had nothing to do with concern for my offspring.

It was because I quickly realised that having his hand in plaster would put him out of action, meaning I no longer had to honour my reluctant promise to join him on the nylon piste this coming weekend.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all for spending quality time with my son. It's just that our ideas of what constitutes "quality" differ considerably.

For me, skiing is all about the exhilarating views, the pure mountain air and the apres ski shenanigans. . . with a little exercise thrown in for good measure, obviously.

Sliding down a giant inverted toothbrush on a wet and windy day in Sunderland is all well and good if you're a 17-year-old adrenalin junkie. But at 49, I'd rather have a nice cup of tea and a custard cream, thanks.

Perhaps I prayed just a little too hard for an excuse to get out of the fake snow adventure. If there is a God (and I seriously doubt it) surely all he had to do was puncture one of my car's tyres or have me laid up with a mild dose of flu . . . he didn't have break my kid's thumb.

The good news though, is that his spirit remains intact. So I've had to reiterate my promise to accompany him on the phoney slopes once his damaged digit is functioning.

Oh joy.