It snowed early this year — the first proper fall came on the eighth of November, soft enough that the dog stood at the window and didn't know what to make of it. The chimney smoked badly until Owen climbed up and pulled out a jackdaw's nest the size of a hat. The kettle has been on more or less continuously since.

Margot started Year 4 and announced, in the same week, that she had given up sugar (she has not) and that she intends to be a marine biologist (she might). Henry built a fort under the stairs that has, by mutual treaty, become permanent. We learned that the small rooms — the ones with steam on the windows and someone making tea — are the rooms we'll remember.

So this card goes out, as it always does, in the hope that wherever you are this Christmas — flat in Brooklyn, farmhouse in Donegal, that strange new house in Singapore — there is a fire, or a heater, or at least a thick jumper, and someone good to share it with. We love you. Come and visit. The kettle is on.