NEVER mind the spy who came in from the cold, we’re all doing that at the moment. No one with sense in their head or blood in their veins stays outside for long, and only a fool rides a bicycle.

So let me introduce myself as a bicycling fool. Great frosty heavens, I don’t think my hands have ever been so cold. The other night, I saddled up, having first scraped the frost from the saddle, and headed home after a couple of pints in the early evening.

A friend and I met in the Lamb And Lion, and while it was nice to see the place open again, the snug was anything but; this cold seems to seep everywhere and it certainly found its way into that un-snug.

Afterwards, fingers turning to dead things, I rode home as the wheels of my bicycle scrunched the frosty road. My hands died twice that day, and again the following morning. Indeed, it took a while before my fingers were up to this typing lark, which in a normal week some readers of this newspaper might consider to be an advantage.

These unusual endless days of frost or snow, when the air seems almost to freeze solid, change our lives in a number of ways, not least the one mentioned on the front of The Times the other day: “Why has Britain ground to a halt?”

Extreme weather brings challenges that seem impossible to surmount. Anyone attempting to fly may well have got that message; as will those who joined the frozen snake of a queue for the Eurostar train; or sat for hours on an ice-rink of a motorway.

Who is to blame for all this chaos? On this matter there are a number of possible arguments to be had. The combative one, as brandished cudgel-like by various national newspapers, is that someone should be doing more; the Government, the airport authorities, the councils – you name them and they should be making a greater effort.

Such frustration is understandable, but is our inability to carry on as usual really so surprising? This sort of weather arrives fairly infrequently, for which we should thank however many toes we still have remaining. Yes, life is difficult, dangerously so for some people; but doesn’t that just point up how accustomed we have become to life not being difficult?

The blame culture is, well, partly to blame: it always has to be someone’s fault nowadays. The weather does not know this and so carries on regardless, unhindered by the icy cares of man. In a strange way, it is sobering to be reminded that we cannot control everything; that life sometimes becomes difficult in forgotten ways.

Also, there is a sense of personal responsibility in all this. The ill-prepared driver, who clambers in and expects to be able to point his car and go, as usual, is himself partly to blame if something goes wrong. As I would have been had some frosty mishap occurred to me on my Arctic cycle ride the other night; had I taken a tumble, it would have been my own fault and nobody else’s.

As for our own difficulties, these have mostly involved the exchange of presents, with two visits from my father called off due to the snow; and now my brother, due up from Cardiff tonight, has cancelled for the same reason.

So there won’t be so many presents under the tree, but that’s hardly a national disaster.

If there is a bright side to this, aside from the astonishing white frost coating everything like celestial glitter, perhaps it is that for now we once again have seasons. Extreme cold is no fun, but so often in recent years Christmas has arrived in a mild grey burp of nothingness.

A cold Christmas and a white Christmas will be a change. But after that, can I have my fingers back, please.

And should you still be planning on having one, do enjoy Christmas.