One of the best books I got for Christmas was the one on how to simplify your life. If, argues the author, you resolve to travel lightly in this world, to be honest with friends and strangers alike, and to learn to tune into yourself, your quality of life will improve dramatically. Stress and anxiety will become strangers to you.

Every day will seem like the best yet.

After finishing serving the second day of yuletide dinners to a pack of baying relatives I filled my glass, kicked off my new gift of slippers (not difficult when they were three sizes too large and lethal on stairs) and began reading it. Two more glass refills later and it suddenly seemed to make perfect sense. I am either a traveller through this universe relishing every brilliant moment of my journey or I am a sad, put-upon porter who has agreed to carry other people’s emotional baggage and never gets a day off. The choice is mine.

Just one more glass of Rioja and I made that choice. How surprised my flesh-and-blood and in-laws looked to hear my frank assessment of each and everyone of them! How odd it is, one particular relative agreed, that my feet have not grown three sizes in the space of twelve months.

How unexpected that I seem to love cooking and yet I’d sooner burn in hell than cook another three course lunch with all the trimmings for them again. I was just beginning to warm to my subject, internally praising the incisive writer of the book, when several visitors suddenly remembered they had left a goose on the stove or something and had to rush 80 miles home to turn it off.

I hope you’re pleased with yourself, said my husband, and left the room. Probably to check whether he really does have hairs growing out of his ears.

All in all, I feel that may not have gone as well as it could, but it hasn’t stopped me finishing the book. And taking some of the advice on board. Indeed, there is no reason to fill your house with more clutter or to shop till you drop.

Many people in the world simply live from day to day. And you should take pleasure in solitude now and again. Other people can drain your energy so much.

I’m thinking this as I sit in a meeting in an office in Cirencester. Snow flakes are flying past the window, and when I leave I find the ground is covered with two inches of snow.

How I’d like to swap my suburban semi for a garret in a place like this, I think, as I make my way gingerly back to my car. You can find peace of mind in an ancient place like this.

I brush the snow off the car and set off for the A419, a happy traveller in this white universe.

At the first set of red traffic lights I brake gently and carry on travelling through the lights and into the path of a 4X 4.

It’s probably only because I am thinking such beautiful thoughts that the 4X4 manages to miss me. The driver may well have read the book, too. She is refreshingly honest with me, a stranger, about my driving skills.

When I reach the A419, the traffic is single lane and travelling slower than I could walk – and I’m in heels. I turn on the radio, lean back and breathe slowly and deeply as the book recommends if I am to enjoy today to the full. The radio presenter is urging people to stock up on food, and stay indoors.

An uncomfortable thought creeps into my head. Part of my new decluttering regime involves only buying things when you really need them. Things like fresh food and petrol.

My heart sinks as I look at the petrol gauge. When the engine starts spluttering seriously, I pull over to give the cars behind me a fighting chance of getting through.

I sit there for ten minutes, trying to tune into myself, as the book recommends. Then I do the sensible thing, have a little sob, and ring the AA. Other people may drain your energy, but they can also fill your tank. The AA man may be quite a while. I close my eyes and try to meditate on how I will create a hot meal for three tonight out of cornflakes, two Oxo cubes and a jar of pickled walnuts.