He hasn’t been skiing for 30 years, but, what with his athletic paunch and splendid moobs, he’s not worried.

He’s far too cheap to get ski lessons, so offers you £50 for a quick ‘half hour’ refresher. Who better to teach him than you, a clueless 18-year-old who’s only just learnt to link turns? Why on earth would one pay a trained professional to guide one through the basics of an extreme sport?

Your anxiety will turn to dread when you hear him arguing with his friends about whether or not skiing in jeans is a good idea. Next morning he’ll meet you on the piste wearing a shell suit he bought in 1981, woollen gloves and rear entry ski boots from the 70s.

But worry not – your troubles have just begun. He’ll shatter his collarbone half way down the nursery slope and spend the rest of the week sitting around the chalet in his pants looking crestfallen and requesting coffee.