Happy Christmas. Childish thoughts of the fairy at the top of the tree reaching down and transforming the forgotten shabby doll at the back of the toy cupboard into a princess. At the stroke of midnight on Christmas eve all the animals can talk for one minute - I've always wanted to stand on the yard and listen to the horses and the foxes. Sleet erased hills and a north wind. I feel like an innuit witch as I duck against the blast to fetch the wood or scabble for some sprouts - cold as bolts - in the garden.