A week is not, I’ve found, a very long time to prepare yourself for such a momentous trip. Go on a beach holiday and all you need are a few bikinis and a sarong—maybe a natty pair of flip-flops. Nipping off to Nepal is not in the same league. The Himalayas are not so accommodating when it comes to equipment requirements. I went out on Monday and threw myself on the mercy of a very lovely young man in the local Outdoor Shop. After several hours of trying on walking boots and down jackets and discussing the various merits of four-season sleeping bags, I came out of the shop several hundred pounds lighter and several bags heavier.

When I got home, I tried on all my new gear again in the privacy of my own lounge. It was truly alarming. I fear that I might look more like one of those anoraked, bobble-hatted types in the expedition brochure than I care to imagine. Plus I can hardly move, let alone march up a hill.

Still, I’m committed now—or should be—and I’m having a going-away party to mark the occasion. A select few. My sister, hubby Lee and their brood, doting mother who has not yet been told the purpose of the party, and Pip. That’s it. That’s my send-off party. I’m not sure why I invited Pip. Except that he’s been nice to me and has even called a couple of times to see if I was okay—which is more than can be said about Jake, from whom I’ve heard bugger all.

Edie and her entourage have arrived already. My mother always likes to make a late entrance. My sister’s kids have the entire contents of my new wardrobe spread out on the lounge floor and are taking it in turns to try it on. It’s causing them great hilarity, which is not the response I’d hoped for. Liam is wearing my new wraparound, mountain-strength sunglasses. My nephew is stumbling round, groping the furniture—as well he might. Honestly, they’re so dark I can hardly see out of them. I’m going to need the services of a guide dog if I’m not to walk straight off the edge of a mountain when I’m wearing them. Which would not be a good start to my trip. Something else for me to worry about! Lee, lost without any DIY to do, is taking a moment of respite to read the small ads in the local free newspaper.

‘I tried to do Nepali-themed food,’ I say to Edie, ‘but Sainsbury’s didn’t oblige.’

‘All they eat is yak,’ she replies, Archie hanging from her hip. ‘Yak meat, yak butter, yak milk, yak yoghurt. You’ll come back looking like a yak.’

‘How do you know this, font of all knowledge?’

‘I saw it on the National Geographic channel.’