Jonny McCambridge: My long and curling road to Olympic glory

But then, when the Winter Olympics is on the telly, I find that I don’t pay much attention to anything else.

Around this time every four years, I become enchanted by the balletic grace and athleticism of figure skating, thrilled by the daring speed of downhill skiing and intrigued by the raw power, aggression and tension of ice hockey.

But I prefer to feel a deeper connection with my sports; a fanciful whim that I would actually be able have a go at the pursuit that I am watching, if only I could be bothered to stir myself to get off the sofa.

As I stare bleary-eyed at my TV in the early hours, I have to concede reluctantly that I would never have made it as a ski jumper or successfully landed a quadruple salchow on the ice rink.

The four-man bobsleigh does grab my attention as it seems that the two guys in the middle of the sled don’t really do anything other than keep their heads down. Although I am put off by the furious sprint of the athletes at the top of the chute.

Which brings me to the curling. As I watch from my horizontal position, with a bowl filled with Wotsits balancing on my stomach, I mumble to myself, ‘Yeah, I could do that’.

Which is in no way to diminish the apparent difficulty of this ice-based sport. The more I watch, the clearer it becomes that this is a devilishly complicated and a richly tactical pursuit. Moreover, the majority of the competitors seem to have excellent levels of fitness.

It is just that it appears to be something that I could at least conceivably try without killing or seriously injuring myself, as opposed to the high-speed luge or those snowboarders who do multiple somersaults and twists on the half pipe.

I quickly become obsessed with curling. I try to familiarise myself