With one sky-turned eye for falling ice daggers, the other scanning the ground for slippery patches and ankle-twisting ruts, my usual Botticelli angel-like features are being transformed into Picasso eyes swivelled at unlikely angles. Despite the weather, I have kept up my programme of 10,000 steps a day so that spring will hopefully still see Kendall emerge a lean and beautiful butterfly rather than a chubby caterpillar. The last few days have been more Stakhanovite than pleasure, plodding through the
slush to achieve my plan target and, instead of looking up to savour some architectural detail, vertigo-wracked little me shudders at snow shovellers
perilously perched on the roof. The forces of nature at least take one’s mind off the coming assault of T-rex on poor America (and us) and there is still November’s brightest light, the Stockholm Film Festival.