'Tis the season to creep about the attic hunting down a box no-one bothered to write 'Xmas' on 12 months ago. Traditionally, this is followed by the much-loved 'it looks squint to me' debate; a long, sour silence over whose responsibility it was to check the lights BEFORE they went on the tree; and, my particular favourite, competitive bauble re-positioning.
The only tough part is the thick mud which coats the path as I trudge uphill but soon I arrive among the rocks and everything is dry. Huge boulders are scattered across the landscape, as though tossed by some angry giant, and the trail leads through narrow gaps through overhanging cliffs, aptly named the Labyrinth.
With chilly February extending into an equally frigid March, I think longingly of our recent trip to one of my favourite cities - sunny Seville, the exquisite capital of Andalucia in southern Spain. Only a short flight from the UK, followed by a short taxi ride, Seville is an ideal weekend destination.
Although the coast of Languedoc-Roussillon isn't as obvious a holiday destination as the Cote d'Azur, it has just as much to offer with less crowds, even in peak season.
From next year the price of a yearly university tuition fee rises to a humble £374,000, so every post A-Level student is starting uni this year, therefore abandoning their original plan of working in a dodgy supermarket near their parents' house for six months before travelling to some far off land. Sad isn't it?