There is a particular flavour to the months between October and February in London. The light goes early. The Tube smells faintly of damp wool. People start saying “well, it's the run-up to Christmas” in mid-October as if that explains everything, which, fair enough, it sort of does. I find I either disappear into a duvet for the whole stretch and emerge in March slightly paler than I went in, or I spend the entire thing on planes. This year I did the second one. So before I