IT’S stupidly early when the alarm goes on my phone on a Saturday morning in December. Although it’s not quite the night before Christmas in my house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

I roll out of bed and glance through a gap in the curtains. It’s still dark outside. I can see a thick layer of frost covering the street. Nothing moves. It is as if the ice has trapped everything in suspended animation.

I walk through to my young daughter’s room, rubbing sleep out of my eyes as I go. “Wake up, Holly,” I say, touching her shoulder. She gives a barely perceptible stir. “We’re going skiing today – and you’ll get hot chocolate at the end,” I add. Almost immediately she bounces out of bed, smiling in that slightly lopsided way you do when you’re still half-asleep.

I help her wriggle into woolly leggings and jumper – her salopettes, hat and gloves carefully packed into a bag. Outside, Holly is well hopped up in her car seat, while I stand frozen, slowly scraping ice off the car windows. Mercifully, our journey shouldn’t take long as we are not heading north to Glencoe or Glenshee, but just down the road to Braehead’s Snow Factor and the UK’s largest indoor real-snow ski centre.

The reason for our early-morning departure is because my daughter is taking part in a four-week skiing kindergarten programme. My wife learned to ski at a European resort when she was very young and now is a natural at it, so we are keen that Holly is also introduced to the slopes early. We arrive at Braehead just as the sun is rising above the frozen horizon – the sky is a beautiful dusty pink. Inside, Holly is quickly sized up for skis by a space-age looking device that is not unlike a futuristic coat stand. She places her feet in the foot holes before it spits out a ticket. The staff are waiting at a huge, low desk as I hand over Holly’s ticket. Behind them stands row upon row of skis and boots.

In no time, Holly is kitted out in her pink salopettes, boots and skis. We are introduced to her instructor Dyllan, who squats down so that he is at eye level with Holly and explains the plan for today.

“Hey Holly, we are going to choose a helmet then we are going head through to the slope to learn to ski, ok?” he says in reassuring tones. I can see she is very nervous and she point-blank refuses to let go of my hand. Dyllan has obviously seen it all before, so he advises me to put on a helmet too and we all head out together, hand in hand. A blast of cold air greets us as we enter the skiing arena. It is a wonderful but discombobulating experience when you first step foot on real, actual snow indoors. It instantly puts me in mind of The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe.

The snow gives a wonderful squeaking noise as we walk the short distance to the nursery slopes. Here, Dyllan puts Holly’s skis on for the first time and takes her on a little practice run on the flat. Her eyes are wide, full of wonder at the experience. Before I know it, Holly is shuffling her way up the slope, with Dyllan as her guide, before he helps her turn to face me at the bottom. He lets go and then … she is actually skiing. However, after a few seconds, Holly looks at me, unsure what exactly she’s meant to be doing, and promptly sits down, sliding to a stop. She laughs hysterically, much to my relief.

I leave at this point, knowing that Holly is in safe hands and head back upstairs to the viewing platform. On my way, I walk through the bar – called rather perfectly Bar Varia. It is designed to look like one of those Alpine après ski lodges, complete with wooden log interior. The walls are a homage to the mountains, with everything from skis to ice axes and crampons – even the floor is studded with the carabiners used in mountain climbing. A gaggle of young women dressed as elves tiptoe across the bar, lending the whole scene a distinctly Christmassy touch.

From my vantage point above the slopes, I fully appreciate for the first time the scale of the arena. The main slope stretches ever upward, while down either side, poma lifts deliver to the top skiers and snowboarders – who waste no time in bombing downwards in a flurry of snow.

Over to my right, the nursery slopes are abuzz with lessons. There, at the far end, I see Holly throwing her head back in delight after shooting through a tunnel that Dyllan has obviously set up for her.

At the end of her lesson, I head back down to get Holly. She is pink-faced and happy. What more could a father ask for? The only thing that is left to do is honour my promise of hot chocolate, so we walk back upstairs towards the bar. As we go, another of the Santa elves scurries past. Holly, in her amazement, says: “Daddy, did you see that? That was amazing.” The elf turns on her heels. “Would you like to see something even more amazing?” she asks Holly.

Holly nods her head shyly and the elf leads us to a door, which she slowly opens. Inside, Santa Claus himself is seated, relaxing as if it is the most natural thing in the world.

“Hello, little girl,” he booms, before asking Holly what she wants for Christmas. The smile doesn’t come off my daughter's face until later that night when she is nestled snug in her bed. Perhaps visions of sugar plums dance in her head.

Kinder Ski block (children aged 4-6 years old) costs £99. For more information, www.snowfactor.com