And then I remembered.
There we were, eating a healthy salade cauchoise and planning where we were going to go snowshoe-ing in the afternoon, when our English friend Mr Katie Bear and his Canadian pal, Clinton-Baker, turned up. In case you think we live in the costa del neige of the Alps - we don't. We're the only Brits here en permanence but Mr and Mrs K. Bear have a maison secondaire and come out during the school holidays (they're both teachers).
One bottle of pastis (the boys) and half a bottle of white wine (moi) later and the Canadian thought it would be a good idea to go swimming in the trout stream at the bottom of our garden (there's always one isn't there?).
So off we went, through a foot of snow, to watch a grown man flailing around in three feet of icy water in his pants. As he was emerging from the stream, Ursula Andress-style (but fatter ... and hairier .... and onto snow - so nothing like that scene really) six rider-less horses ran past. It was a surreal Twin Peaks moment and I don't know who was more startled - the horses or the Canadian.
Anyway, he must have removed his pants to dry, and that's how I found them sitting upright on the table, like a cardboard cut-out, when I came down for breakfast.