A Continental Christmas

Swapping tweeds for salopettes, Neil and Serena Cross prepare for a festive season spent on the slopes while keeping Father Christmas on his toes with a suitably sporting wishlist

- Andy Hook

THIS YEAR we are spending Christmas in Italy, as the thought of struggling back to Blighty with a car crammed full of Chianti is less appealing than the prospect of skiing day trips and evenings in front of our own fire, roasting chestnuts and sipping Bombardini. So it's goodbye to the A30 in the drizzle and hello to rising early and driving to where the best sun/snow combination can be found with skis on the roof and a spring in our stride.

Of course, there are many aspects of Christmas in the West Country that we will sorely miss: crisp hunting mornings, the exquisite thrill of our first day on the woodcock, expressive singing in church, fuggy evenings in the pub among friends and neighbours, and that wonderful aroma of a rib of British beef cooking on Christmas Day while senior claret is decanted in the kitchen. But I remind myself that all these things will still be there next Christmas as I swap tweeds for salopettes and strike out for the Alps.