Saturday 18th December

This morning K and I are off to see some of my Stepdad's family in Kent, as well as to conduct the long-delayed present exhange with my mum and Stepdad. This involves getting the high-speed train from St. Pancras and changing at Faversham - and while we're skating across the ice towards the tube station with the forecast of heavy snow in the back of our minds, we briefly wonder whether this is a particularly good idea.

We arrive at St. Pancras where there are no timetables to speak of - just signs that "all trains are subject to delays and cancellations". Hmm. We head up to the platform from which the high-speed train departs and get on the first one we can see, which happens to be heading to Faversham and also happens to be running on time. So far so good - but the snow starts coming down on London just as the train pulls out of the station, and gets progressively heavier as we head south.

We reach Faversham in under an hour to find that the train we had supposed to be catching has been cancelled - and that all trains are now leaving from a single platform. This means a 20 minute wait, but now we're worrying even more about getting home later this afternoon. We may have to cut short our visit to a simple exchange of presents - but I figure that as long as we're going again by four then we should be OK.

The train pulls into the little village of Aylesham at around two, where Mum, Alistair and Alice are waiting to meet us. We say hello and skate up towards Alistair's mum's house - at which point the snow really, really starts coming down. We sit in the living room and gaze out at the whiteout - at which point all hopes of getting back to London today vanish steadily. The family have fun poking fun at me for worrying and feeling a bit trapped and agitated; and while there couldn't be a nicer place to be stuck (there's plenty of food and drink in the house and it's nice to catch up with Alice especially, whom I haven't seen for a over a year) I can't deny that the hot bungalow and the snowy little village leave me feeling a bit claustrophobic.

The Network Rail phone line confirms that the trains are all cancelled until tomorrow morning, and one glance at the news suggests that the whole of the south of England has ground to a halt. No flights out of Heathrow, all Premier League games cancelled and lots of weekends ruined. Too bad - but when the snow stops K, Alice and I head out into the unbelievably deep snow to the shop for provisions while Alistair sorts out a tasty dinner of duck and pork belly. The rest of the family watch Strictly Come Dancing while I - in order to to avoid it - offer to do all the washing up (which at least spares me 35 minutes of Bruce Forsyth's chin and Gavin Henson's pectorals).

After a cosy evening of telly, K and I grab some sheets and I make myself fairly comfy on the floor - hoping for a way home in the morning.