1. The snow on Wood Hill is trashed – its steep slope drawing in all and sundry for sledging – but beyond, there are stretches of virgin snow: no human has been this way since the “proper snow” fell at the weekend. I follow the path made by paw prints through the hidden brambles, trying to identify the animals (other than Lily) who have passed that way before me.
2. The momentary look of bafflement, eyes flicking left and right, as they try to remember which way is port and which starboard.
2b. I introduce a new game and laugh at their instant, unbashed cheating.
3. I have an inability to create consist French knots but I WILL NOT BE DEFEATED. I swap between different threads and tie knot after knot. An hour later, I no longer have the aforementioned inability, and now je les adore!
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