I smile, rictus-like, and answer their pointless, predictable questions as we take the various lifts up to the very top. Yes, it’s fun living in a ski resort. Yes, I live here all year round. I lie about how long I’ve been here – I always do – that’s none of their business. No, I don’t have any plans to go back to the UK, etc., etc., etc. I love the mountains. They are my home. And my job would be almost perfect – if only I didn’t have to deal with clients.

It must be around a Force 8 wind as we get out at the top. The less confident of the two – I can’t be bothered to learn their names – pulls a face as the wind slams into us. ‘Bloody hell, it’s freezing!’ he yelps. The other one, maybe a few years older, but it’s difficult to tell the way they are so swaddled up in scarves, claps him on the back and booms, ‘Don’t be such a girl! This is what it’s all about!’

I snap my goggles on, pull my hat down over my ears and click my boots into my skis. My two clients are still faffing around with their gloves. Hurry up! I scream inwardly. I’m freezing.

‘Hey,’ shouts someone in a logoed jacket, one of the annoying tour reps who seem to change pretty much every year, schussing to a stop next to me. ‘You taking these guys down the couloir?’

‘That’s the plan,’ I reply, not that it’s any of his business.

He pulls a face. ‘I hope they know what they’re doing.’ And I hope you know what you’re doing, is what he actually means.

I roll my eyes – he can’t tell as I am wearing my goggles. ‘I wouldn’t be taking them if I didn’t think they were up to it,’ I snap. ‘I’ve done the risk assessment and they’ve signed all the correct forms.’

‘Hmm. Well, they’re my clients too and it’s a lot of paperwork and hassle for me if there’s an accident,’ he warns. Like I care about his paperwork.

‘Guys!’ the rep, I think he’s called Richard, calls to his clients, who are finally putting on their skis, thank Christ. ‘You be careful down there, OK?’

‘Right-ho!’ the older one yells. ‘We ready for the off?’

Just then, my business partner Andy turns up. Not for the first time, I wish I’d set up Skitastic on my own.

‘Why are you here?’ I ask. Checking up on me, no doubt.

‘My clients have decided to call it a day. Too cold, for them, apparently. Shall I come along with you?’