Skidding...

As a child, I used to think that if I ever went on Mastermind (as I presumed everyone did at some point) I would say that my chosen specialised subject was The Famous Five and my profession was a "skidder" *.
My sister, Sue, was pretty good at it but I thought I was amazing. Every winter, we would find fantastic skids - usually on the pavements outside the old folks bungalows I am ashamed to say - and we would spend hours trudging up then skidding down them. Obviously for the old folks there were broken bones aplenty, but for us, just occasional wearing through of our wellies.
But karma being what it is, it all comes back to haunt. It's very hard to do a managed skid with a pushchair and I am at that stage of life whereby I walk along doing a half skid / half ooo, me oesteoporosis walk.

I am hopeful that I can pass on all of my tips and skills on to my children and can stave off moaning about the Council not gritting the pavements for another decade...

* ice, not pants.