Dip shows me the mess with its electronic board of up to the minute windspeed and temperature and humidity readings. He shows me the kitchen where the eggs are up to a year old. They’re oiled, to preserve them. ‘Chilli the chef has to do the old crack and smell before he puts them in an omelette.’ We walk through plush carpeted corridors to the cinema and the television room. ‘We get Indian news every night at 10:30, off the satellite. India’s our closest country. We know a hell of a lot about the Indian perspective on cricket.’ Dip shows me the battered dartboard in the bar where the weekly tournament is held with other bases around Antarctica. It’s all done via radio. ‘The Aussies never cheat,’ he says very solemnly. ‘Not like some of the others.’ He shows me the surgery and the operating theatre. ‘We’ve got a doctor but none of them nurses in tight uniforms. If we have to do an operation, the diesel mechanic and the chef and the radio technician step in to help out. They went through a two-week training course on the mainland. I tell you, they’re enthusiastic. It’s frightening.’ We walk by rows of pictures of previous wintering teams. The photos go back to the midfifties. They’re posed like school photos. Gradually, the serious, solid rows of beards are broken by a woman here and there. And men with clean-shaven skin. And silliness.

‘Antarctica’s not scary anymore. Those days are over. The most common thing the doctor deals with now is dental problems. Can you believe it? Teeth are a real bugger. You’ve got gorgeous teeth, Fin.’

I feel sexy and playful. My time with Max has peeled away the anxiety and the loneliness that had settled over my limbs in my city existence of 3.25 a.m. alarms.

‘What’s your real name, Dip?’

‘I’ll let you in on a secret. It’s Rick. But only a few people call me that. They ring the station and ask for Rick and no-one here knows who they’re talking about.’

‘I’ll call you Dip.’

He tells me to stick by him and keep out of Pamela’s hair. I ask him what it is that she doesn’t want me to know.

‘She just doesn’t like journos.’ He smiles. ‘But I do.’

I bet he was very loved as a child.