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When you have been mollycoddled, pampered and thoroughly spoiled by a vast team of liveried chalet staff, it comes as rather a shock to find yourself fighting for survival in a steep chute (in our case, the tricky Cuboré couloir from Avoriaz down to Les Crosets in the vast Portes du Soleil ski region on the French-Swiss border) with no-one but yourself to get you out of trouble. Where are the manservents when you need them? Logically, with such high levels of service, you shouldn’t have to ski unaided – or even ski at all. Would it be asking too much, one wondered, to ask four of Descent International’s smart and terribly obliging chaps to carry one down the slopes in a chaise-à-porteurs suitably equipped with ski runners perhaps?

There is little doubt these days that up-market chalet operators vie with each other to produce the most sybaritic and Epicurean experience possible for their clients, while “lesser” operators are torn between pretending to be more up-market than they are, and just providing honest-to-goodness, clean, wholesome and unpretentious, home-from-home service.

After the previous night’s dinner, it was a wonder we could ski at all. Scarcely had we recovered from the delights of his aprés-ski raspberry soufflé omelette than Pierre-Paul Mangnay, the amiable Belgian chef and his team at the luxurious Ferme de Moudon, a converted barn in Les Gets (‘as seen on TV’ – it was featured in Channel 4’s ‘Grand Designs Abroad’ series) had almost overwhelmed us with a dinner which seemed to include as much Perrier Jouët on the plate as in the glass. There were delicious amuse bouches that were a meal in themselves (including poached mussels in champagne), exquisite starters (cold vichyssoise of carrot, cream, and champagne jelly, as well as pan-fried foie gras) and a main course of poularde (cooked, of course, in champagne).

The following morning, what I had assumed in the darkness to be a simple cup of early morning tea arrived. “Just shove it on the floor” I said sleepily. It turned out to be a silver-plated salver with porcelain teapot, milk jug, egg-cup containing sugar and dish of sliced kiwi fruit. I trod on it as I got out of bed, and made a mental note to ask the staff not to put the tray on the floor the following morning. I also said although I appreciated the vast wardrobe, I could have done with a small drawer or two in which to deposit smaller items.

Gradually, as we continued our tour of the Portes du Soleil with our guide, Nicolas Tricou, we reluctantly realised we must now fend for ourselves until the lifts closed and a Descent International chauffeur arrived in his VW Caravelle to rescue us, when the whole cycle of self-indulgence followed by do-it-yourself skiing would resume. We moved on from the Swiss border across seemingly endless terrain, watched over constantly by the dramatically jagged peaks of the celebrated Dents du Midi, taking in Morgins - where we found a little room for a welcome alpine lunch (in my case Croûte au Fromage, delicious mountain fare but not a dish that Pierre-Paul would contemplate serving) – Châtel, Torgon (from where we had a glimpse of Lac Leman) and Abondance.

With 13 linked ski villages, this really is a vast area – said by some to be the biggest in the world. It’s a close-run thing between the Portes du Soleil and the linked Trois Vallées resorts of Courchevel, Méribel, Les Menuires, Saint-Martin-de-Belleville and Val Thorens, but the Portes du Soleil has more runs. By late afternoon, still wandering the slopes of Abondance, and many miles from home, I was beginning to wonder how we were going to make it back to Les Gets in time for tea. Not that we needed any. “No problem” (the most over-used phrase in chalet-dom?) said Kit Harrison, who started Descent International a decade ago, and was keeping an eye on us as we moved from resort to resort. This time, however, he solved the “problem” in style.

We paused, enjoyed a breather, and relaxed in the brisk but invigorating rays of the late afternoon January sun while Harrison made a quick call on his mobile phone. No doubt one of Descent’s fleet of Caravelles and Touaregs would be on its way to collect us. But no, it was a better than that. Within a mere 15 minutes, an Aerospatiale Squirrel helicopter from the Chamonix Mont Blanc fleet was clattering towards us, landing in a snow-laded field. We clambered aboard, skis stowed in an metal basket attached to the undercarriage for this very purposes, and were soon being whisked back above Morzine to our home slopes of Les Gets – pausing to swoop low over the Ferme de Moudon in a hint that perhaps someone might like to put the kettle on while the indefatigable Pierre-Paul dreamt up his latest decadent dish.

When I got back to my room, I discovered a newly-installed piece of furniture: a tall and handsome cupboard, with small drawers, purchased that very day for my benefit from a furniture shop in Les Gets.

A day or so later, having moved on to another French resort (Val d’Isère) where we were being hosted by Nick Morgan who runs Le Ski, a somewhat less salubrious but nonetheless extremely welcoming chalet company in Huddersfield, we were comparing and contrasting the two operations. “You’re not with Descent International here, you know!” quipped Morgan, “and they would certainly never be able to fill a couple of charter flights every week like we do! But we hope you will enjoy our warm and friendly service.”

We did indeed. But of course you get what you pay for. Or rather don’t get what you don’t pay for. This was put rather amusingly to the test when we asked Nick how we might get ourselves into town to sample the après-ski. No Caravelles and Touaregs at our disposal now. “It’s a seven minute walk” he said. “Or there’s a bus service at the end of the road” he added with a slightly triumphant grin.

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