Day four of snow-bound incarceration dawned. And what a beautiful dawn it was, full of the promise of a calm, calming and the calmest of winter days. Overnight the temperature fell to minus five degrees in the hallway. Snow was still lying outside, and thankfully, not in the hallway. The car, which used to be the darkest blue, was still white, and somewhat larger than I remembered. The tyres were my only hope, having being replaced a few weeks ago with new ones. After kettles of hot, not boiling, water, and frozen fingers, the car was dark blue again.

The weather forecast, that most fickle of warnings, was for more snow soon. So, living on a hillside, and mindful of the diminishing food in the fridge, a starving cat, and the stock of wine down to virtually nothing, decided to make a break for it.

The local village is only a couple of miles away, with a library, a few charity shops and a couple of convenience stores that rent videos and sell tobacco products. No thanks; this is no time for being local. My life may depend on it.

My goal was a supermarket, one of the seven wonders of the modern world, where aisles, trolleys and foodstuffs, beyond the meaning of the word sustenance, are abundant. After four days, I needed my fix.

But first, how to get to the ‘main’ road? This is usually clear of snow and ice because of the white vans, tankers and articulated lorries that thunder by all days and in all weathers, delivering Amazonian books and small ephemera to all and sundry. But the bit between my house, and the main road, is twisty, steep, dangerous, and downhill, apart from the last few metres, which is uphill, and any of it can be expensive in insurance claims and loss of no claims bonuses. And when it is covered in snow and ice, more so.

The secret is hyperventilation. You put the car into gear and hope that the snow will somehow help the tonne of metal and glass to grip those new tyres, so tightly, that they squeal for breath. When you get to the corner known locally as ‘say goodbye to your no-claims bonus’ you pray that your sins are minor ones, which really aren’t up to much. You think about clutch and brake pedals, but are too scared to touch them in case the ABS starts making an omelette with chives, and only turns on the heat at the last moment. What are the benefits of ABS in this situation? Who cares? Please God, let the car turn ever so gently around the corner and down the hill to the main road on its own. I’m doing nothing except nudging the steering wheel, helpfully and bravely.

Thanks, He did.

Then the scene unfolds. An AA van, a Landrover, another car stuck on the next corner between me, and freedom. Stop. Stop. Stop. But, ever, so, gently. The car slid to a halt, and we paused. Paused for breath. That was a memorable 30 metres.

Thankfully, after about half an hour, the situation was resolved. The stuck car was released, the AA van departed, the Landrover disappeared into a spray of snow dust and the road, the snow-covered road, was clear for me to proceed to the main road.

The last bit, the few tiny metres to the main road, rise several metres on a slope, and as they are those precious few metres to freedom, should be sacrosanct and left clear because, if you falter you could stop, and then slide backwards and end up in a stream. Parked just there, waiting to pick up a daughter, was Maria, with hazard lights flashing, helpfully, to let me know that she had blocked access to the main road. Too late...