Bexile

With Cannes off the agenda, it was time yesterday to begin my period of Xmas exile in The Shire. Most of the snow has melted in NoMaRo, apart from in the park, so it was a surprise to see that by Ealing, the roads, cars and houses were still covered under a thick layer of the stuff. By the time the bus entered The Shire, it was like something out of The Road. My parents' village, situated on a hill, resembles an Alpine village but with far too many tacky Christmas lights.

At least the roads are clear enough to get out of the village and into the relative civilisation of Oxford where I can go to the gym (running being pretty tough in the eight-odd-inches of snow and, anyway, there's not really anywhere to run in The Village) and the shops (not that I really feel like shopping).

The cats, meanwhile, alternate between being severely unimpressed by the snow and (in the case of the one that thinks he's a dog) thinking it's an amazing, extensive game that has been laid on for him.