Each morning, the round hills and bosomy woods atop them are frosted with flour, like a bakers batch loaf. Finley and Nick put on two pairs of gloves, an extra jacket and a brave smile for the icy whoosh down the hill to school. But Fin will not be prevailed on to wear the balaclava, that last year was a prized Ninja accessory.
The cold has gotten into the very bones of the house. We sneak around looking for cracks and drafts, taping up the leaky cat flap, pinning a thick woolen blanket over the conservatory windows. I refuse to have the heating on full when we could just wrap up a little warmer and make the house a little more efficient. Every half an hour I barrel up and down the stairs to wake my fingers and toes and think about popping the kettle on for another ginger tea. Brrr!
So to keep the cold out of our bellies, I will be roasting some roots and making warming soups and stews. Who wants salad when it's as cold as this?