Popular mythology has it that a solitary snowflake landing on the London-centric Met Office’s roof at midday on the 25th constitutes a White Christmas. Now I understood that there might be a degree of ambiguity involved here. I’m referring specifically to a frozen piece of water and not to a certain denigrated generation crafted from the fever dreams of the tabloid press and certain prominent political figures.

To help assuage any thoughts of jealousy, Madrid this morning is three degrees colder than home in Haddington. The sun is shining and by early afternoon we will be in the park under a cloudless sky squirrelling rays and Vitamin D. So no jealousy please, this house-sitting lark is onerous.

On checking the morning papers I note that October’s promising prediction for snow on ‘the day’ has yet to materialise. This could be because there’s the white stuff in central Madrid.

Here is the totally and incontestably verifiable evidence.

Possibly not enough for a snow angle. That is, until a skater comes over the crash rail.

To those who celebrated last night, I trust the dishes are now finished. To those who are preparing for later today: did you remember to start cooking the ‘sprouts last Monday?

To one and all have Happy Christmas.

TheNavigator + TheChronicler.