Louise leads us to a large, wooden, prefab structure. The intended effect is clearly ‘alpine wonderland’—the reality is much more ‘going to see Santa, in a suburban garden centre’, which is especially jarring near the end of February. Harri’s indulgent smile falls off her face. I had a feeling that her expectations for the evening were pretty low. She wasn’t hoping for ‘tea at the Ritz’—but she really wasn’t prepared for ‘booze in a shed’.

Gingerly, I follow Louise down some rickety wooden stairs. The first step seems to buckle beneath me, so I grab the charming, rustic bannister and immediately feel the splinters piercing my palm. When I look around the room, I’m expecting to see barnyard animals, hay, buckets of manure, maybe baby Jesus sleeping in a quiet corner, even though his own birthday is a distant memory now. But the space is beautiful. Pines, ferns, and dark green plants are all hung with warm white lights.

And now that Louise has stopped trilling and skipping, she seems to have grown a foot taller. She’s nodding demurely at a beautiful woman in a black cashmere dress and saying ‘The reservation is under Cameron, 6 p.m.’ Perhaps it’s pure professionalism, but the woman seems to acknowledge Louise with something more than respect. Maybe awe.

‘Louise, of course. It’s wonderful to see you. Please, follow me.’

We’re led through the bar. It’s quiet—it’s pretty early in the evening, and I’m not sure how much call there is for a night out at a festive alpine lodge this close to spring. I see a group of four young women, posh, glossy, but slightly boiled looking, in furry stoles and hats. One touches the top of her head, presumably about to put herself out of her overheated misery—but the other three glare at her, so she scratches her ear instead.

I don’t know why we don’t just sit at one of the many empty tables, until Cashmere Dress Woman leads us to—well, it’s like a woodland clearing. The pines are clustered together to form a secluded space, and they’re woven with more white lights. Some of the trees are hung with bronze lanterns, and the table is set in front of another little wooden cabin, only this one seems to have been very thoughtfully designed, with swagged, brocade curtains in the window, and tiny red flowers in the window boxes. Through the doorway, I see a small, fully stocked, wooden bar. Cashmere Dress gestures to the table. ‘Will everyone start with a glass of champagne?’ I murmur ‘That would be lovely,’ as Akila says ‘Yes please,’ a little too emphatically. But not as emphatically as Kim’s ‘FUCK YES.’