It is Christmas Eve. We were promised drizzle. We have heavy rain. It is cold. The heaving shops are best avoided, full of steaming people whose presents ordered on the internet have not turned up and they have only a few hours to buy substitutes. Half our mail has not arrived as it is being forwarded from the Borders and we are a few presents short for under the tree and the opening ceremony after the Queen has said her bit at 3pm. Snow is forecast. And that is something to look forward to. If we are spared