Patience has never really been my forte. I try, but apparently, patience is just one of those things that comes with age. Which means – you have to wait in order to learn it. And this is part of the problem. Waiting.

I have a collection of friends, older chaps at the Legion. Many of them have stepped in over the years to play voluntary Granddad. A number of them have, undoubtedly, mellowed over the years. They have mastered the art of patience.

I fancy I’ll be more like Ivor, my favourite of them all. He’d seen the horrors of war first hand. He’d lived and loved and hoped, but never lost the passion for fine dining. He complained about the food in the nursing home. He was a hero in the truest sense of the word.

But as I look out through my front door, aware that I should email my blurb lady, and start working on the front cover for Book One, it feels like patience is easier to achieve on a snow day. You can’t be in a hurry when you can’t get out of the driveway.

And so it is – X Files box set, piping hot coffee and a dig on my lap. There’s food in the fridge. The world can wait.