Woke up to find the garden under five inches of snow. Granted that’s not a Greenland statistic, but it’s deep for here.

Looking out of the window now, the reserve is full of people building snowmen and throwing snowballs. I’m sitting in the study working from home; the cat is asleep in the bedroom, having already been out, got himself a chill and thrown up his breakfast on the duvet.

It’s always nice to work from home now and again. You get so much done when your phone isn’t ringing and there’s nobody hovering by your desk waiting to ask a question. Today it’s forward-planning and feature writing, and it’s fortunate that there is someone in the office to email out some documents.

What this kind of weather does show, though, is that despite the fact we spend our days working with words and layouts, you still can’t quite produce magazines from an entirely remote location. Not yet. That’s a shame as it would be so much better if none of us had to get on the trains twice a day.

The chickens were freaked by the snow. It was only when they realised they could eat it that they got over their fear. Now they’re trying to clear the whole of their run by mouth. Greedy things.