I find myself stuck in my hotel today following one of Britain's worst snowfalls of the past 18 years overnight. That's not a terrible thing. It means that instead of six hours of driving and a visit to a tweed mill, I spent the day reading an old James Bond novel at Sharrow Bay Country House, a hotel on a lake that's conveniently attached to a one Michelin star restaurant. There's not much to do other than read and walk in the snow, but I am unlikely to go hungry.
I arrived last night after a ten hour flight and four hour car trip ready to practice what I've found to be one of the more reliable ways to adjust to the time change. After a quick shower it was time for cocktails, wine with dinner and cognac afterwards in my room where I slept soundly the night through. And this morning I am adjusted.
If memory serves me right, dinner consisted of foie gras with black pudding, plaice in mushroom sauce, a sorbet, lamb served roasted and braised, and a lemon baked Alaska. I am faced with a similar prospect for this evening (the Stilton souffle looks good) and an early bed time before my drive to London in the morning.
But if there are more travel advisories for tomorrow, I may have to stay over. No sense risking life and limb when the kitchen is this good.