Diary – 22 March 2008

Over the last 20 years, gentlemen’s clubs have had to pay at least a token deference to modernity — equal rights, health and safety, inclusiveness. And then there is St Moritz Tobogganing Club, a British club with its own rules. Located in the middle of the Swiss Alps, it makes one uncomplicated demand of its members. Men must slide down a three-quarter-mile run of ice on a toboggan at speeds of up to 80 mph. The run finishes in the tiny hamlet of Cresta, so this happy, if eccentric, sport is called the ‘Cresta Run’.

I am in St Moritz for the second time. Last year I was invited — as a last-minute replacement, I suspect — to join a friend’s army team. We did pretty well and, encouraged by my newly discovered ability to go very very fast without a thought in my head, I decided to return in glory with a team of my own.