REALITY:

Yeah I admit, on my first season I had this fantasy of swishing down the mountain with a mysterious Italian snowboard instructor/lover in tow, sipping champagne with rich people and being bonked in the hot tub by holiday hotties. I actually spent the entire time coated in vomit and sweat, or picking other people’s pubes out of plug holes in an eternal cycle of cake-baking-bed-making-dish-washing-toilet-scrubbing-hard-drinking-hangover-hell. The bits in between when I got to go riding (or, more accurately, careering down a piste at balls-out speed while drunk) were ridiculously brilliant though.