It turns out a ‘green’ is a green piste. It’s the easiest type of proper slope, but still way bigger than the nursery slope, which was apparently what I was on earlier.

And magic carpets are only for total beginners, no doubt to lull you into a false sense of security.

Initially I am relieved to find out that we are going up the mountain in something called a bubble because that sounds quite fun, but it turns out to be nothing like a bubble at all. It’s actually a cable car which, alarmingly, doesn’t stop for you to get in like any normal kind of lift. No, instead you have to shuffle along in these impossible-to-walk-in ski boots, carrying your cumbersome skis and poles – ideally without letting them hit someone in the face – then you have to spot a gap while everyone else is doing the same thing, so you end up in the bubble rather than standing on the platform, waiting to get on.

After about three bubbles go past without us, even though we’re at the front, I finally manage to hurl myself forward, or rather lurch in as Will shoves me. I fall over as soon as I’m inside, my skis clattering to the floor (why do they have to make so much noise every time?). Will hauls me up while a couple of teenage boys pick up my skis and hand them to me with a brief ‘Tenez, Madame’ and disparaging looks.

As the lift rises up, I stare gloomily out of the window at the beautiful landscape and clear blue sky. This is not going how I hoped it would. I knew we’d be skiing, obviously, but I guess I was imagining getting up late, perhaps some sex, a massive breakfast served by fit French waiters in tuxedos, a couple of runs in the sunshine, which I would somehow be able to accomplish effortlessly, some steak and red wine for lunch, followed by a session of sledging or a sexy snowball fight like in the films, then back for a hot tub and more sex on a bed covered in furs before a dinner of oysters and champagne served by a beautiful Russian woman. Clearly I have watched too many Bond films.

The cable car lurches and adrenaline surges through me as for a second I’m sure the whole thing is about to drop off the wire and crash to the ground. But no, it’s just that we’ve arrived at the top and it’s time to get off. I stumble off using my poles for balance – by now Will has realized that it’s easier all round if he carries my skis, thankfully. I follow him out of the lift station and squint in the bright light.