Snow really does bring out my inner imp. I’ve known it in Wales, in London, in Oxford, in the United States – the impulse to mischief has always been the same. This year the snowfall found me staying with my goddaughter’s family, below the crest of Bredon Hill. After Mass I spotted her creeping up on her little sister and was preparing to deluge her with a volley of my own, when I lost my footing at a crucial moment. There’s a parable there somewhere, as ever. Tobogganing after lunch was much more satisfactory.