‘It’s a type of lift, but don’t worry – you’ll soon get the hang of it. Let’s take it one thing at a time, eh?’ He cocks his head towards the very unmagic-looking conveyor belt. ‘Shall we?’

Will shows me how to get on to the magic carpet. He goes first and actually, it’s surprisingly easy. It’s like being on a travellator at an airport, as far as I remember from the very few times I’ve been to an airport, only on a slight incline. I panic as I near the top because I don’t know how to get off, but my skis pop off the end and I keep them straight, as Will told me to, he holds my hand to help me shuffle out of the way.

After that, things get more difficult. Will explains that what I need to do is go down the hill with my skis in a position called a snowplough ‘Look! Keep the tips pointing together and the other ends outwards. Like a snowplough, see?’ he says as if I was about six years old. He’s saying something about transferring my weight from one side to the other to turn, and trying not to stick my bum out, but I’m not really listening. I’ve already decided that skiing isn’t for me. It’s a posh person’s sport. You have to have learned when you are tiny, like the little kids around me on this slope, otherwise it’s too late. What was I even thinking, coming on this holiday?

But I’ve come all this way and Will has paid for me to be here, so I can’t say that. I force a smile, put my ski tips together and slide down the hill as Will skis backwards in front of me. There is a lot of stopping and two falls, but Will is there with an eager grin and his hand held out each time to help me up. It isn’t as bad as I expected it to be.

‘Yay!’ he cries, applauding and jumping about as we finally make it to the bottom of the tiny slope, to the obvious bemusement of a nearby group of toddlers who are somehow on skis even though they have probably barely learned to walk. By now Will has taken off his skis and is walking alongside me because I am so slow and have fallen so many times. ‘You were amazing!’ he lies, admittedly enthusiastically. ‘Shall we have another go, and then we’ll move on to a green?’

A green what? I wonder. Are we playing golf later? But I don’t ask. ‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘Let’s do it again. And then we can move on. To a green.’