St Tropez set grab some ski time

The skiing on Mont Fort is \'for those who like to live dangerously\'. That\'s what I read in Swiss International\'s flight magazine on the way to a short break in Verbier. Which is fine, because I\'ve reached the age when skiing on even the easiest of slopes is dangerous enough, with boy racers desperate to do damage from behind and inebriated Russians determined to cause multiple pile-ups in front. I\'ve also entered the phase of life in which a guide is crucial. Ours is called Giulia Monego, a delightful 30-year-old Italian. \'What would you like to do today?\' she asks our motley crew. \'We are in your hands,\' we reply, bravely. \'So we go to Mont Fort and see what we can find,\' she says. The name of the company for which Giulia works - Powder Extreme - should have warned us. Then, in the cable car up to the 3,330m summit, we learn she is a recently retired world ski free-riding champion. Free-riding means hurling yourself from the tops of mountains and hoping you land on a patch of snow, rather than a slab of granite. Then you jump again and again, aiming to be alive enough to hear the applause at the finish line. Mont Fort is one of the big beasts of the ski jungle. It starts with a horribly steep mogul field that gives way to a horribly steep piste, normally as hard as cement. But the views are lovely. Giulia picks up on my apprehension and we start talking about her grandmother, who has an apartment on the Grand Canal in Venice. Within minutes, I\'m gliding down the mountain deploying many of the same skills as those gondoliers who operate in impossibly tight spaces near the Rialto Bridge. Giulia also recognises the importance of lunch, suggesting we should grab a table on the terrace at Le Cristal at the top of Ruinettes. This is gourmet fare and quite a performance. At one point, the maitre d\' apologises for the slow service, but with Mont Blanc shimmering in the distance and the sun bouncing off our wine bucket, we\'re in no mood to complain. Verbier comes into its own when there\'s lots of snow. That\'s when you can explore many of the \'itinerary\' runs (with names such as Stairway To Heaven), which are off-piste, but patrolled. But there\'s no point pretending this glitzy - and becoming glitzier every year - resort is cheap. This year has seen the opening of Guy Pelly\'s Public club, with Princess Eugenie one of the first through the door at New Year, wearing fur and a silly mini skirt. More and more, Verbier is where the St Tropez crowd spends much of the winter. The shopping is scary (my wife hopes I\'ll find her a sleeveless jacket with fur lining, and I do - for £1,280, so I buy a bar of chocolate instead) and there\'s even a lift named after James Blunt, who has a chalet here. We\'re staying at No. 14, run by Verbier Exclusive, a newish company started by David Pearson, who set up and then sold Ski Verbier, and Tom Avery, a remarkable young man who has reached both the North and South Poles on foot. It sleeps 26. You can take it all or just a room or two - and you don\'t have to muck in with anyone unless you wish to do so. Food and wine is top-class. There\'s a pool, steam room and whirlpool in the basement and the chalet comes with a resident masseuse. Any keen skier should sample Verbier at least once so they can say they\'ve conquered Mont Fort. Just make sure you\'re following in the tracks of a world champion.