A light dusting of snow over the island, and I’ve just woken up hot in a proper bed, by a phone call from far away. It feels good.

So christmas day is over, but thankfully there’s still ten days of lying around and reading to be done. Hoorah.

Yesterday afternoon, fortified by wine, we went out for a long walk to the white beach at the north end. The wind was coming in directly from the north, blowing such a gale as to make us lose our footing a few times. We leant forward at a steep angle and shouldered ahead.

When we reached the beach, our faces glowed from frozen wind, which carried snow (or at least the scent of it), and we could see it already swirling under heavy clouds in the distance over Tiree, Staffa, Ulva. We drank a toast to friends and family, here and far away, and I thought about the people I was missing the most.

The whisky warmed me up.

We turned around and headed home, this time pushed by the urgent wind towards the dinner table. My bum was frozen by the time we got back, in half the time it had taken to get there.

Then we ate too much, drank too much, discovered I can do an uncanny Dutch accent, and played Trivial Pursuits. And I won. It’s a family tradition - like so many others, we make it up as we go along.

From the inquisitive holiday department: what is yeast? Animal? Vegetable? Does it grow somewhere? Is it made of other things?