Unfortunately, the time has come to start taking things more seriously, the time to ignore the massive stock-piles of cheap beer and spirits, to ignore the calls of the local bars just itching to stay open until 7am and to hand over all those mischievous cigarette packets. This isn't because we've all had a sudden moral breakthrough or any substantial epiphanies (like that time in The Simpsons Movie, however, that would probably help), nor have we converted to some weird Christian cult or even become better people. It's just that our BASI (British Association of Snowsports Instructors) examiner has arrived and will be 'constantly assessing us', meaning that if we have a cheeky beer at an inappropriate time or someone feels like they want to have a liberating coffee and cigarette on the hotel balcony, they will (probably) be branded as a sporting sinner and cast into the purgatory of trying in vain to make up for their 'heinous' mistakes, doomed to brown nose until they catch some kind of disease.

His name is Alex Leaf and he is one qualified chap, the dog's bollocks of ski instruction, and I must admit, he's not at all what we were expecting. The first time I saw him I didn't even realise that he was someone I was in any way connected to, he's a small, unassuming 52 year old chap with a stiff walk and a charmingly weather-worn face (which is probably attributed to being a volunteer on a life boat, something I would give the majority of my limbs and my first born child to avoid doing). It turns out he's actually from just down the road from where I live, back in the UK, in the town of Brixham, Devon. This, incidentally and to my great amusement is where my absolute khazi of a secondary school, King Arthur's Community School in Wincanton, Somerset sent us for 4 days to get rid of us, getting us to live in some really rather dilapidated, mouldy, smoke stained cabins to expel some energy and teenage angst. But all we did was sneak out, running around the campsite until the early hours of the morning, getting cigarettes off the employees and committing some serious house invasion on the more targetable other students, picking them up and placing them in hedges, living up to the nature of the true British youth. Anyway, it's nice to have a fellow Southerner out in Argentina with me, who understands my, evidently, regional sense of humour and also enjoys talking in an exaggerated local accent when being sarcastic about something (an affectation that has earned me some extremely odd looks and awkward silences in some social circles, the humourless bastards!). He's is also the most fantastic skier I have ever had the pleasure to see and be taught by. You wouldn't expect it, but as soon as he clicks on those little, white skis, he radiates an infectious energy that is only enhanced by his wonderful, fluid and energetic skiing style. On our first day skiing with him, we and all the rest of the mountain were thoroughly put to shame as he cut fluid and perfect lines across the mountain, rising and falling with impeccable grace.

In the days that we have had the gift of his instruction so far, his influence can be seen in every single approach of our technique and attitude. In fact, I enjoy the sport even more than before, feeling an addition to the fluidity of my own skill and even beginning to feel that I too, may, one day be one of those people that others watch ski by as they sit high above on the lofty (and bloody incompetent) chairlifts observing the more able skiers as they glide down the mountain, creating the most wonderful and enviable lines as they dominate the pistes. The arrival of Alex has not been the only blessing of late. We are also being graced by the absence of cloud and high wind, replaced with the subsequent presence of the sun! This means that, finally, we are able to enjoy the full view from the top of Cerro Catedral, which is the most gigantic, breathtaking view that I or any of my fellow skiers have ever seen. However, I wont be uploading any photos of it any time soon because due to its enormity and grandeur, it is impossible to satisfactorily capture within a feeble camera lens. Which is immensely frustrating, because, believe me, I've tried!

Also, due to the amount of time we have free (a point of annoyance amongst the group, considering the brochure neglected to mention the amount of cabin fever that would be included in the course), we've all gotten a bit bored, and so three of us decided that we should just, you know, climb a mountain. We got this out of the way one afternoon and unfortunately entrusted Mark with path finding duties (well it wasn't so much of an entrusting, more of a duty that he forced upon himself, which, we would have been more than happy to swipe off his hammy, hunched shoulders) and quickly found ourselves edging across a steep slope of scree, holding on by our fingernails to something with the strength and consistency of play dough trying not to fall down a ravine onto some very sharp rocks. Which made us all very happy and contented with our decision to allow ourselves to end up in this predicament. A considerable amount of time later we had decided to stop following Mark, in favour of following a very moth-eaten dog that seemed to look like he knew what he was doing and ended up somewhere near the top (above the snowline, which means we definitely were not giving up) before we had to turn around, in order to time our descent to end before nightfall. After some very aggressive snowball fights and getting up close and personal with some condors that I tried and failed to photograph competently, we decided it was time to call it quits and that we would tackle Cerro Ventana another day. Being of a lazy and adolescent disposition, we decided that as soon as it became possible (and not completely lethal) we would just fling ourselves (equipped with ski poles, to look professional) down the mountain and to try and jump down as many dangerously high things as possible. We filmed it, fell over a lot and came down a lot quicker than your average mountaineer. Sir Edmund Hillary would have stood in a jealous rage wishing he'd done the same in his youth.

So as the week continues we continue to live in paranoia of our continued assessments for our level 1 exams, pretending to be studying very hard and to have given up all our nasty habits. Meanwhile, the local people in the poorer suburbs of Bariloche have been rioting, meaning that it's an absolute bugger to get a taxi (I know I'm such a tourist, but we must all get around you know!) because they haven't got enough food. Well that would be the second time we've been here, and last time, the police ended up killing people which resulted in a lot of burnt out cars and unusual concentration of Molotov cocktails being hurled about the place. Which is always nice for your very pathetic, very British looking foreigner to wander about in like some kind of semi-retarded sheep. Oh well, Im sure someone will be paid off and the black market will do it's job, just about feeding the poor and giving the rich people iPhones and cocaine.

And look at this link, Alex's blog. http://worldclassskiing.wordpress.com/. Lovely chap. Plus, there's a photo of the back of my head on there too.