‘Um … about fifteen minutes? Twenty, tops.’ It would take me about three by myself, I add, silently of course.

She looks at the lift again and sighs. ‘OK. We’ll give it a go. But you have to promise to stay right by me all the time.’

In the end, it takes almost an hour, not including the ten minutes it takes Louisa to get her skis on, as usual. ‘Here you go, like this, yes that’s it, toe in, lean on me, then push down with your heel … just so. No, it’s slipped out, let’s try again,’ I say, calmly and patiently, acting like the ideal boyfriend, while inside I’m screaming. The conditions are so perfect today. I know I should be wanting to spend time with my lovely girlfriend, but right now, I could almost kill her.

Once the skis are finally on, we set off, and almost immediately, she falls over. I can see she’s close to tears.

‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Don’t cry. You’re doing great.’

She shakes her head. ‘I’m scared, Will. I can’t do it. I’m going to hurt myself. I know I am.’

I touch her arm. ‘You’re not going to hurt yourself. You’re doing fine. By tomorrow you’ll be loving it – I promise.’

She smiles weakly, takes her sunglasses off and wipes away a tear. ‘Sorry. I’m being ridiculous. I’m going to get this.’

I feel a pang of guilt. She’s so beautiful. And she’s genuinely scared – I can see that. I vow to be more sympathetic and stop thinking about all the other pistes I could be skiing. I’m here with Louisa, that is what matters. Most men would kill to be here. They wouldn’t want to be with Adam and Nell, hooning down the red runs on the glacier before stopping off for a nice cold beer which doesn’t have to take an hour because someone takes so long to get their skis on and off.

Really, they wouldn’t.

But my resolve doesn’t last long.

Louisa eventually manages to snowplough down the top of the almost-flat slope, using the widest traverses I’d ever seen. Then, just as she’s performing one of her tortuous turns, a snowboarder clips the end of the ski, and she falls over. Again.

This time, she’s more than just a bit tearful. There are huge, heaving sobs and snotty tears – proper ugly crying. ‘I can’t do it!’ she wails between sobs. ‘Please, Will, don’t make me! I’m too scared!’

We sit at the edge of the slope for about ten minutes, me with one arm around her shoulder and the other stroking her knee, waiting for her to calm down. I encourage her to take deep breaths while I try hard not to think about all the great skiing I am missing out on.