‘They’re very nice people,’ he continues, ‘and they, um, understand the situation, so I’m sure they’ll be – well. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable. I’ve brought a skidoo, so if you’re happy to hop on the back, we can get you installed. Just this one, luggage wise, is it?’ he asks, glancing at my old and shabby backpack.

‘Yeah – I left in a hurry,’ I say. ‘And I don’t have any cold weather clothes anyway, as you can see. I’m living in Thailand at the moment – they don’t do snow there.’ I am shivering in my thin raincoat and wish we could cut the small talk and get to wherever we’re going.

He smiles. ‘Well I’m sure we can lend you a jacket or fleece or something for your stay. Best if you put your backpack on and then hop on behind me. We’ll get you inside and warmed up in no time.’

I straddle the snow bike self-consciously, noticing that everyone else is having to drag cases through the snow – some aided by porters, some by reps and chalet girls, and others doing it by themselves, in some cases while having also to coerce over-tired and screaming children or precariously balance sleeping babies on their shoulders.

I’ve never been on a skidoo before and am not quite sure how to hang on – I don’t want to put my arms around this guy’s waist because, well, it would be weird, wouldn’t it? I don’t even know him. So I awkwardly hang on to the seat behind me. I don’t have gloves and my hands are red raw as soon as we start moving. Matt, probably noting that I’m not fixed on in any way, drives slowly. We travel for a minute or so up a short hill, turn off onto a tree-lined driveway and then stop outside a stone and wood building.

‘Oh. It wasn’t far then,’ I say as we both climb off.

Matt smiles kindly. ‘No. But many of our clients don’t like to walk through the snow, so it’s a service we provide. Normally it’s a four by four rather than a snowcat, as it’s easier with the luggage, but the snow’s too deep today.’

Matt pushes open a heavy wooden door and I’m instantly grateful for the warmth inside. There’s a row of hotel-style slippers lined up inside the door, so I follow Matt’s lead in slipping off my manky raincoat and sodden shoes (I take off my socks too, which are also soaked), and push my feet into the soft, puffy slippers. They are chocolate brown with a pattern which makes them look like they’ve been knitted. In that moment they feel like the most comfortable and comforting thing I’ve ever worn.