Our route takes in lush paths overhung with the welcome shade of oak trees, ramshackle villages where everyone rushes out to wave at us. The stone steps are made for tiny Nepalese feet not European clodhoppers and test the thighs and calves to the limit. Never again will I fear a StairMaster. Farmers work the fields, using ancient methods to thresh the cereal, driving a team of oxen over the yellow stalks to separate the precious seeds. Outside the houses groups of women thresh the millet using the power of their feet while they chat and giggle to each other.

I can feel my stress peeling away with every turn in the path we take. The sun is fully up and the temperature is soaring, but the warm rays feel wonderful on my back. I’ve spent so much of my life rushing from one place to the next, winding myself up to a pitch over nothing, that I’ve rarely stopped just to watch the world go by. This is the perfect panacea to Western living and I can see why Dean has chosen not to go back to the rat race. One thing for sure is that no matter how hard you try, the rats will always win. It feels as if I’m in a Disney version of life—overblown colours, cute faces, everyone laughing and smiling, immaculately drawn backdrops. When did London become so monochrome? The red buses are the only things I can think of that add colour to the landscape.

We stop to catch our breath and take on some welcome water. The snow-capped peaks of Annapurna South, Lamjung and Machhapuchhre keep the keen photographers in the group entertained. Sanjeev comes round and hands out hot, fragrant cloves to chew on. They’re strong, spicy and an acquired taste.

‘You don’t look so sad today, sister,’ he says and I guess he’s right. How can I be sad with scenery like this? It’s a million miles away from My Baby and My Divorce and my real life. The air is so clear and invigorating it feels as if it’s got an extra oxygen molecule and any thought of aching legs is soon dispelled. Mainly because my mind is focussed on my lungs, which are threatening to explode.

Dean drops his rucksack next to me. He’s been chatting with some of the others in the group this morning, but I wanted to keep my own counsel and just take in the sights. I’m huffing and puffing so much that I’m not sure I’ve got enough breath left for talking either.

‘It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?’ he says.