I have never been an especially proficient skier. I had only been once before, and a rather nasty fall in a charming little Italian town called Claviere left me with a severely bruised coccyx and the inability to sit down for two months. So when I was given the opportunity to visit the gold plated slopes of millionaire haven Verbier, high in the Swiss Alps in the south of the country, I was initially apprehensive. “What if I crash and burn in front of the bronze and blonde Eton-ites that wear jackets that cost a thousand pounds?”  My pleas fell on deaf ears, and off we went.

We travelled to Switzerland by car. First the drive to Dover, then the ferry to Dunkirk and then a 12 hour slog to a town just outside Verbier called La Tzoumaz. Now I would love to tell you that the journey was a joyous caper of rustic French villages and exquisite Swiss vistas that unfold glorious mountains and lakes in front of your very eyes. It wasn’t. It was 700 miles of motorway and a particularly brutal game of eye spy that lasted four hours. My brother managed to jump on a plane from Bristol to Geneva and then a transfer to the chalet, which was £65 all in with Easyjet and a far superior option to driving.

The skiing was excellent. More built for the intermediates and experts than me and my bruised...ego, Verbier is one of the off-piste capitals of the world, and well worth a look if you’re daredevil well into your red and black runs. While I was there, I was told that Richard Branson owned a chalet called: ‘The Lodge, Verbier’. A gazillion bedroom retreat for the rich and famous that goes for £100,000 a week during Christmas. “Sounds decent for next year dad?” I chirped. I won’t tell you his reply, but I assume that we’ll be staying somewhere a bit more modest next year.