The snow was falling faster by the time I got back to bed with the tea. Lucy was sitting up, wrapped in the covers with just her head poking out, her eyes wide with excitement as she watched the huge flakes floating down past the window.

“Oh thanks. Did you remember the sugar?”

She said as she extended just one arm out of the cocoon of duvet and blanket, in order to take the mug of tea. I looked at her quizzically, trying to work out how on earth I would get back into bed, but also trying to communicate to her that I might be a bit chilly if she stayed like that.

The snow was too exciting for her to notice my concerns about the present dearth of covers.

“Look at the size of those flakes, Paul! If it carries on like this we are going to have the best powder coming off Saulire tomorrow.”

It was easy to work out that this was her first season, but I had no desire to spoil that. The wonder was gone for me; powder was all well and good, but actually I craved something rarer. For me, the dream was empty, groomed pistes.