We've moved back into winter quarters - down in the cottage - and my feet are warm for the first time in what feels like weeks.
We struggled to keep the house heated as November became increasingly cold and wet. We created small pools of warmth - the kitchen, my study, the lounge (and even that became hard after I'd broken the Godin glass) - and scuttled between them across chill passages. We shut doors to keep the heat in and Vita (who easily opens latch doors) did not understand and wandered round opening them again pulling in icy draughts as she hunted us down to where we were huddling.
With the prospect of even colder weather, yesterday evening after our French lesson we fled to the cottage with duvets, chicken and the spice rack for curry supper, milk and cereals for breakfast, our computers and the Sky box.
Today, in biting wind we've trotted backwards and forwards carrying down winter clothes, books to read, cameras, extra shelving, the store cupboard and veg. Every time we come in through the cottage front door the warmth has enveloped us. Vita follows us contently from room to room - no shut doors to paw at.
We can look at the forecast with equanimity. We are promised snow.