It’s nothing like the nursery slope up here. People are whizzing past at incredible speeds. Where are they all coming from? Will can’t expect me to ski here, surely? I’ll get run over.

Will touches my arm. ‘OK? I know it’s busy here, but don’t worry – we’re going to head over there where there’s a nice quiet slope with a gentle drag lift which is tucked away from the main thoroughfare – it’ll be perfect for helping you find your feet.’ He points off to the left a little down the hill, where I can indeed see a slope where people do seem to be skiing more slowly (again, mainly children, though bigger than the ones on the magic carpet and, what I now see was a tiny weeny slope at the bottom).

I nod. ‘OK. But how do we get there?’

‘Um … we ski?’ A hint of tetchiness there. Although I can understand why he’s getting annoyed. I’m not usually so wet; as a rule, I’m up for anything. Magic mushrooms someone found in the forest? Why not? Naked cycling along the Cherwell towpath at midnight? Bring it on! But this is different. Skiing is scary and totally not fun.

Will puts my skis down on the snow right next to me, one by each foot, and then holds out his hand. ‘You remember how to clip yourself in? Get your skis on and then we’ll go down to the bottom of the drag lift.’

I feel tears forming. ‘But there are so many people!’ My voice is high and whiny and I hate myself. ‘I’m scared they’re going to go into me! I’m so slow and they’re all so fast!’

He smiles semi-sympathetically and rubs my arm. ‘It’ll be fine. I’ll stay right by you, above you on the hill so no one can mow you down, and it will be much quieter and calmer when we get over there. Look – you don’t even have to turn to get there – you go in a straight line, snowploughing all the way so you can control your speed. No one will go into you.’

How do you know? a voice inside me wails, but I force myself to nod and force out a strangled ‘OK.’ Again, it seems to take forever to get my skis on but, once I’m in, Will clips his on in literally five seconds.

‘OK? So remember, tips together, knees bent, look ahead – we’re aiming for the bottom of that drag lift, OK? On y va!’

‘What?’ I ask, flustered, trying to remember all the things he said. Tips together, what else?

‘Never mind. I just said, “Let’s go!” It’s French.’