Deciding to pop into a local bistro around the corner from the chalet seemed like a good idea at the time.

It turned out to be a Michelin star restaurant frequented by Russian, Italian, Lebanese and Turkish billionaires.

I spent the whole evening praying that my credit card wouldn't bounce and that I could sneak out without drawing attention to my jeans and still wet boots.

I needn't have worried. Billionaires don't pay attention to anyone, and they have a rule - the poorer you are the better dressed you are for dinner. They must have assumed I was a gazillionaire.