Every time he comes up, he’s got no knife, he’s got no jacket, he’s got no pants, he’s got no boots. All he’s got is that stupid gun he carries around

Why when you have an enforced snow week, do you feel less inclined to get down to writing than when you’re rushing around like a blue-arsed fly with absolutely no time to spare? Discuss.

This is the drift I fell into earlier – it wasn’t as much fun as it sounds. We’ve had a week of heavy snow, and now it’s started again. No-one is out gritting or clearing the majority of the roads, except for the hardy locals, and I’ve seen very little on the News – plenty about the south of England suffering though because they have frost (FROST! I ask you), and that there might be a sprout shortage (God forbid).

Tesco won’t deliver, and the local shops are running out… I give it 2 days then I’m holing up in the woods with a commando survival tent, a big gun and a deer carcass. You’re either with me or against me.