It remains unremittingly cold, vice-like in its intensity and scalpel-sharp. Saturday night was -5C and it barely rose through Sunday despite some hazy sunshine. When I got into the car at 6 this morning, the thermometer read -4.5C.

The Farm at 7.30 Sunday morning when we were out with Meg. I reckon it was -7 degrees.

 I find time stalls when it’s this cold and I just grow an undefined fear inside me. How you guys who live your lives in Alaska, Scandinavia, Vermont, or even Scotland get through the winter is something I admire greatly – and you remain, invariably, positive about the whole situation: what a lesson for everyone.

The cats are properly dis-chuffed about the weather too. The kittens have taken to staying inside to go to the toilet, usually on our beds. I’m pretty sure Deidre went on Joel’s bed yesterday, and Maddie’s was moistened by a mystery feline (too small for Alan and I think Fatima is still going outside). Pam thinks it might be their mother, the fearsome Pansy, who routinely comes into the garden to scrap her daughters and who I’ve caught inside the house growling and hissing at the dog. Anyway, looks like cat litter trays are making an unscheduled return.

The upside, for the cats at least, is the woodburner. I cleaned the doors of it yesterday so we can see the fire better. All afternoon Fatima sat warming herself, watching the flames with playful intrigue and occassionally attempting to catch them.

Fatima: not the first to be enchanted by a dancing flame

They say it will continue like this for another week at least though the medium range forecast doesn’t see when the weather will break. I can hear the Scandinavians and New Englanders laughing, but I’m not sure my nerves will last as long as the frost!