It has been snowing in the UK for about three weeks now. I have seen photo after photo of snow-covered landscapes that frankly, would take an imbecile to make unattractive. I am DESPERATE for a flake of snow, but no, here in Rome we get snow very infrequently and even then it doesn't settle - which is almost worse. It's like having a bottle of wine with just a couple of centimetres left in the bottom and no more in the rack. You eke it out wishing there was more and that it would last longer, but no, it is what it is and it's gone far too quickly. (I'm not an alcoholic, honest). It's not a relaxing experience, watching it snowing here. Saying that, I have only seen heavy sleet, not your actual genuine Roman snow. That only happens when I go away - earlier this year there was a light sprinkling. I was in Spain. The photos were lovely.

So this year, I have been watching all the snow falling in the UK with a sinking heart, miserable that I'm not there to enjoy it. Homesickness always kicks in in the run up to Christmas. I miss how over-the-top we do things in the UK. You in the UK will scoff - and I well remember how hideously irritating Christmas can become after it's been rammed down your throat since the end of the summer holidays. Things here are much more understated. We went to the Piazza del Popolo last week and the tree there looks lovely, dominating the Piazza in an elegant way, not trying too hard to be the centre of attention. There are delicate lights which certain stores have taken it upon themselves to put up and the odd side-street which has gone the whole hog and strung lights from one end to another, but you don't get the feeling that it's something they want to shout about. You don't hear the same ten songs on a loop in every shop you go into. Which is good and bad, it's sort of a pleasure/ pain thing. Does it make me want to introduce a yule log somewhere unmentionable every time I hear bloody Mariah warbling or Jonah Louis droning? Yes. Do I miss them when they aren't around? Yes. I have a CD of Christmas songs, and yet I miss getting bludgeoned by them every time I step out of the door. It's tradition.

Anyway, as is the way with most things, Christmas is transformed since having children and I am loving preparing Gingerbread Men, coating the whole kitchen in a fine sticky layer making marmalade for presents, baking rich fruit cakes, and the tradition-in-the-making Gingerbread Cottage is in the process of being assembled. The boys have already spoken to Santa. Disconcertingly, heartbreakingly, my youngest at 4, replied to the question, 'aren't you LUCKY to have spoken to Santa?',  with 'it was only DADDY, Mummy!'. How can that be?? The oldest, at 5, tried to warn him he was dicing with a sack of coal on Christmas morning, but youngest wouldn't have it. 'But I was laughing with Daddy, Mummy, he always says 'ho! ho! ho!' like that!'. I'd thought he was quite convincing. Obviously not convincing enough. I am hoping the Portable North Pole people can erase the scepticism, I can't bear the thought of innocence coming to an end so soon.

So we are heading off to Spain in a couple of days to spend Christmas with the grandparents, who are no doubt more excited than anyone, given that they get the double joy of spending lots of time with the grandchildren AND spoiling them rotten over Christmas without Enrico or I trying to rein them in and stop with the spoiling, already, because if they can't get spoilt at Christmas, they may as well give up being children and head off to work now.

And guess what? The temperature's dropping alarmingly. We are due to leave in five more sleeps. Snow is forecast - I check the Lazio weather forecast with obsessive frequency - everywhere but where we are, and I am willing to place a bet, ladies and gentlemen, that it snows with abandon in the near future. It's just saving it all up until we're on the plane. Next year, I'll be doing Christmas in Lapland. I will have snow and sleigh bells, come Hell or high water.