Who needs crampons when you have kitten heels?

Mountaineering experts are said to be horrified by the number of clueless tourists climbing the Alps and the Dolomites clad merely in shorts and trainers. To which I reply: “Pah, that’s nothing, I’ve scaled the Matterhorn in kitten heels.”

I have often found myself ill-equipped in the great outdoors. I once tripped off a plane for new year in northern Italy sporting chiffon and stilettos because Umbria means sun, right? I have scaled walls in evening frocks, while swimsuits have always seemed redundant to me when one is already clad in perfectly good underwear.

Still, my Matterhorn adventure did rather take the Toblerone. I was in the village of Davos for the World Economic Forum’s junior jamboree. This was already a deeply weird occasion: a gaggle of not-so young individuals largely there through nepotism. Think conversations running: “Hello, I am the scion of a corrupt Third World dictator. What do you do?” “I’m the Prince of Norway.”

We gathered one morning for something billed as a “short walk”. I imagined this would involve a quick jaunt around the gift shops so attired myself in a silk shirt, velvet jacket, and the heels. Everyone else looked pretty snug. Many were clutching crampons, harnesses and snow goggles. “Drama queens,” I scoffed.

As we took cable car after cable car up the slopes, a slight feeling of unease started to settle. There really was an awful lot of snow. I began to understand why the assembled party was looked at me somewhat oddly.

Undeterred, I arrived at the base of the summit to discover that kitten heels are actually rather crampon-esque in terms of grip, even if slingbacks lack in thermal qualities. Long story short, a chap lent me his jacket, then had a heart attack, and had to be airlifted off the mountain, while being given the last rites. Still, I looked terrific, and appear to have set quite the trend.