I think I may have found a new career for myself at the Totnes Christmas market. I am going to live on a commune in Dunkeswell, grown a beard and bake bread. That seems to be what these chaps do, and they look well on it.
Their bread is great, their beards are bushy and they all appear stress-free and serene. I'm signing on.
Elsewhere, there was ice aplenty, and the Caerphilly Kid's significant other, Rachel, fell and broke her wrist badly on a patch of ice about 50 yards down the road from us.
With the Kid out fearlessly delivering Her Majesty's Royal Mail in conditions of Arctic cold, we drove her to hospital, picking our way between crashed cars and sliding pedestrians as we did so.
Mrs H had her knee operation cancelled because the surgeon was stuck out in the sticks somewhere.
Alan even had to cancel our traditional Christmas Eve club run because of the ice, so we retired to a house of plentiful refreshment for a fried breakfast instead.
After a perfect Christmas Day with family and fine food, the Boxing Day Dip beckoned, and five fearless runners took the plunge.
Then it was Daughter of Caerphilly Kid's 18th birthday party, with Neil, younger son of Bazza and brother of Tom Down Under, performing DJ duties. It is a small world indeed.
I was in dancing mode, with several pints of cider on board, but Mrs H has been under the weather and didn't throw as many shapes as we might have liked. And not even a blast of vintage Abba could get Mr Fangio onto the parquet flooring.
Bob Sinclar's 'Love Generation' saw me in full arm-swinging soft-shoe shuffling mode. Click here for a great tune. Your arms will be swinging too.
Bank Holiday brought a long dog walk and an extraordinary lunch courtesy of Nanna and DIY Dave. Reg and Baxter drove one another to distraction while we dined on Nanna's wonderful cooking.
And so back to work. Happy holidays, and New Year still to come...
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