The Christmas Day run – as traditional as turkey and the trimmings, and the logical precursor to stuffing one’s face. I’m in rural Worcestershire, a world away from south London. The snow here really is deep and crisp and even; the mercury plunged to -13C last night.

Today I had one of those this-is-why-I-run moments. I ran on snowy lanes, broke trails across fields and up hills, skirted frozen ponds. Under a blanket of snow, all was perfection – the silence, the mist hunkering low over fields, the stillness of the air. Long may the snow last! Merry Christmas to all.