Crusty On The Piste.

The north east of England is the most gorgeous of places. Recently, however, its gorgeousness has been severely affected by a horrendous flutteration of heavy snow. To make matters worse, it has also had to endure temperatures as low as -10ºC!

It was Tuesday morning and one was at a loss as to what to do. Chu Me was clearly bored as one caught him in the Breakfast Room playing with something; something a faithful houseboy should not be caught playing with … his sausage.

Mr. Peppercorn, the village butcher, would not be at all pleased if he knew that, after kneading his meat to the point of total tenderisation, that his sausage would be played with in such a disrespectful manner.

“Chu Me!” One shouted, “Stop that at once!”

He continued eating but had a pathetic look on his face. He was bored. But what could we do? One certainly did not want to venture out onto the local roads ; they were pure ice; even the Range Rover would struggle.

Then it came to me! One had a little flurry at the front but had a good seven inches round the back.

“One has the most wonderful idea, poppet. Let’s go out on the piste!”

His eyes lit up and he clapped his little hands. There was a spring in his step as he skipped to the garages to locate our skis.

Dressed in a stunning aubergine ski-suit and armed with a planished, sliver hipflask of gin, we headed to Mount Gusset – at the rear of one’s estate - to take advantage of the fresh, virgin snow.

We spent five glorious hours swishing through the fluffy blanket of snowflakes to the bottom before having the button-tow take us back up to the top again.

Well … one says button-tow; it’s actually a rather burly member of the household staff with a pair of crampons and a rope, but the result if just as affective. One forgets her name but she certainly responds well to ‘Mush!’

Exhilarated and exhausted, we returned to Crusty Hall’s kitchen, where Chef had prepared a large glass of Torres Jaime I brandy to warm our cockles and a deliciously warming bowl of hot vegetable soup with some homemade crusty buns.

Though one is growing tired of the appalling Siberian weather we are being battered with, at least it brought a spell of exercise and fun. That said, one hopes all one’s poppets keep safe and warm during this arctic spell.