Sexy tone of voice.

It's getting colder. Temperatures falling to unheard of levels. Six at night and the water company phones . A pre-recorded womans voice tells me to " take extreme caution with your pipes ". This is said in that slightly sexy tone of voice that implies impending doom .

The Six Nations Rugby championships start. Scotland lose to England . The Scots team were so bad they might as well have stayed at home in the second half. Angus consoles himself by opening a bottle of champagne . Wilf gets a Ryvita.

On the other side of the lane " the font " is dealing with the second meeting of the Beautiful Byeways Committee. Thirty five villagers turn out despite the cold . The very old farmer with the cauliflower nose, blue beret, and permanently red face wonders if Chinese tourists might be interested in coming to the pottery fair . '' The font " , ever the diplomat after living with Angus for three decades, thinks this a wonderful idea but '' maybe just a little too late to implement this year " . The old farmer beams.

Sunday morning . Out into the cold and along the top of the ridge. Just Angus and close behind a small white polar bear . Angus occasionally talks to his snow flecked, fluffy companion . Our little village deserted. A place apart. Invisible . Its list of attractions conspicuously short . A church with an octagonal pigeon shrouded tower . A reconstructed pottery kiln . A castle . A reasonably well tended village green . Ten street lights and a bus stop. The eternally squabbling residents still asleep. Each in their own way content, if not blissfully so. Our walk takes in all these features plus the fire hydrant and the box hedge round the war memorial. These get christened.

Today the sky undecided whether it will snow heavily, or just snow . By the village sign where the sheltering trees give out, an arctic wind howls across the valley from the Pyrenees . I shiver . Wilf turns to look at me . " Great weather for a walk ! " .