WHEN you’re a newspaper boss and you want to remind everybody that there’s a lighter side to all this snow, sending a young and dynamic reporter out on a quest to find a sledge is a good bet.

Sending a fat 42-year-old reporter is an even better bet, as there are extra laughs to be had in a photograph of a fat 42-year-old on a plastic mini sledge designed for people at least three decades younger and 75 per cent lighter.

That was how I came to tour Swindon on a quest the like of which has not been undertaken since that bloke was sent after the Golden Fleece in the old days. Indiana Jones, I think it was. Or maybe Indiana Jones was after the Holy Grail. Or was that Tom Hanks?

Anyway, you get the picture.

My first port of call was Old Town Hardware in Wood Street, which is famed for stocking everything from cooking utensils to DIY supplies, and from household fittings to bird feeders.

Sadly, they were distinctly light in the sledge department, although more supplies have been lined up for the end of the week.

There was, however, a top quality baking tray at £14.99 that looked as if it would do admirably in a pinch.

But no, my quest was for a sledge, and nothing else would do.

My next stop was at Tesco in Ocotal Way, where an assistant told me there were no sledges. He did this with a genuine sadness which was to be echoed in various other stores during the morning.

This sadness left me feeling rather guilty. I must have come across as a desperate dad whose children were even then sitting at home like Bob Cratchit’s kids in A Christmas Carol, the only bright spot on their horizon the thought that Daddy would soon be home with a sledge. “Be brave, children,” my wife would say. “Dear old Daddy won’t let us down.”

I’m welling up, here.

Anyway, I then headed out to North Swindon, where Asda Wal-Mart, the biggest hypermarket the town has ever seen, proved devoid of sledges, and so did the nearby DW sport shop and Homebase.

Then it was the turn of Toys R Us near the A420 roundabout. According to the giraffe mascot on the ads, there are millions of toys all under one roof. There are indeed, but sledges were not among them by the time I got there, having sold out ages before.

Further disappointment awaited me at the nearby Sainsbury’s, together with everywhere I looked in the Greenbridge shopping centre, the West Swindon Shopping Centre and Swindon’s town centre.

Suddenly, I remembered a car boot sale last summer, and paying a quid for something in plastic that was described as a sledge but could just as easily have been half of a dustpan and brush set or a pooper scooper for owners of Great Danes.

A brief trip home was all it took to find my prize, and I then headed to the slopes of the Old Town Gardens for the maiden voyage.

And covered about a dozen feet before grinding to a big fat halt.

I think I’ll stick with my recycling box lid.

Zen And The Art Of Sledging

IF you’re a grown-up considering a spot of sledging, here are a few tips: Firstly, do not worry about your dignity. You are a grown-up going sledging. You won’t have any dignity. Neither will any of the other grown-ups going sledging. On the plus side, you’ll be too busy having fun and performing battlefield surgery on yourself to worry about such matters.

Also, do not worry if you are unable to procure a sledge. Just about any flattish plastic object capable of accommodating your seated form without too much of your anatomy hanging over the sides and dragging along the ground will do.

The lid of a recycling box – your own, not one you have pinched – is ideal, as are largeish plastic trays, plastic dog baskets (remove the dog first unless the dog wants a go, too), sheets of polythene and even bin bags.

You’ll also discover that the clothing on your back is good for sliding on, and you’ll find yourself doing precisely this quite often.

Finally, do not be tempted to tuck your trousers into your socks to improve your aerodynamic profile – your trouser bottoms are a vital route of escape for the vast quantity of slush that’s going to end up being rammed under your waistband when you fall off.