‘Breakfast,’ Scott yells, chucking some plastic-wrapped croissants in our direction from the front seat he’s sharing with the driver and Kevin. ‘There’s fruit too, bananas and aguaymanto,’ he adds, passing back a tub for us to share.

‘I need something in me, I’m shattered. Feel like I could’ve slept for hours more,’ says Vicky while rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

‘Know what you mean,’ agrees Mike, an unwrapped croissant already shoved into his gob.

‘You are such a terrible snorer,’ I say, grabbing some of the cherry-sized fruit and popping one into my mouth.

‘I’ve been told,’ Mike nods, still chewing.

‘No, not you,’ I laugh, pointing at Vicky.

‘Oh no. Am I? Please tell me you’re joking,’ she says, looking mortified with her hand on her chest like I’m breaking her heart. ‘I’ve never been a snorer. Surely Nick would’ve told me.’

‘Oh,’ I stammer, taken aback. ‘It was dark and I was so out of it. Must’ve been you, Mike.’

‘Sounds about right,’ he nods. ‘Wake myself up sometimes.’

We fall into silence, Mike goes back to sleep (and yes, he does snore) and before long the minibus is coming to a stop in a place called Ollytaytambo. I look out, expecting to see an exciting, inspiring, awe-inducing sight – an incredible view of the mountains we’re about to conquer or maybe a big shiny sign declaring the start of the trek, but instead we appear to be in the corner of a dusty playground or football pitch at the base of a mountain, with chain-link fencing surrounding us. Several houses surround the space we’ve entered with an opening in the fence leading out to them.

‘Thank you so much,’ I hear Vicky say, holding up her camera. Looking over I see that our bags have been taken off the minibus and the heavier ones, the ones with all our sleeping bags and camping gear, are being strapped to two sad-looking donkeys – although I’ve never seen a happy-looking one. Kevin goes over to the three Sherpas and chats away in hushed tones as they load them up. It’s clear they all know each other and are very used to tourists coming along and taking snaps of them while they go about their daily job.

‘I’m so sorry, but I really need the loo,’ says Vicky, looking sheepish as she admits as much to Scott, who must hear that request so much he’s beyond being embarrassed by it. When you think about it it’s a rather strange thing for us all to be shy about when we must take a dozen loo trips a day, at least. I guess we haven’t asked to go since school though.

‘Want to get your last proper toilet trip in?’ Scott chuckles.