THIS week, The Daughter’s been skating on thin ice, more to do with losing her school shoes and borrowing my favourite boots without permission than participation in any winter sports. After all, the weather’s warmed up.

Normally to weather the more testing moments of motherhood, I escape into the great outdoors. However its changeability over the last fortnight has led to the inadvertent trialling of a myriad of unusual weather-related activities.

During the cold snap, my road bike holed up in the garage refusing to put narrow tyres to ice and so I turned to the mountain bike, a machine that’s the pedal equivalent of a monster truck, and weighs only marginally less than a snow plough.

I imagined romantically snow cycling through royally-iced fields but made slow progress, curtailed by the perils of braking and cornering, until the moment I stumbled upon a new extreme sport, bike-skating, during which, as a mere passenger to the puddle rink’s whim, I moved rather faster.

So fast, in fact, that I intrigued the winter wildlife: two deer, a hare and a fox came out to view the spectacle, while a kingfisher flashed amazed alongside me down a frozen brook.

Who needs skates to dance on ice? In a more perilous position than the pilfering Daughter, I discovered a newfound interest in North American ice-road truckers who dice with death on arctic juggernaut trips over frozen Great Lakes, though I’m happy to watch them from the safety of the TV.

I welcomed the thaw but spoke too soon. As crisp white countryside turned to sludge, my crisp white running trainers found themselves knee deep in mud, ruing the day last week I chose them from the sale shelf.

While The Middle One set out for mudball, an early spring version of mudbath-football, I also undertook some unexpected aqua-cycling on the local roads which really required a snorkel and mask, as well as some cycle-surfing with 50mph winds behind me, clocking up a faster return home time than Olympic Bobsleighers.

And that’s the speed The Daughter better find to return my favourite footwear, in a spot of welly-wanging or I’ll be just as blustery! And then, please, let the spring commence!