Apparently "fashion doesn't do jumpers anymore," but when it's icy and snowy, like it is now, I want to pull on the thickest, hand-knitted jersey - the kind you can't fit a coat over. The kind that keeps the wind out and even moths can't contend with. Archie's jumper came from the Isle of Aran itself, bought when we had a holiday there, years ago. It's always had a strangely evocative smell of woodsmoke about it, and, I've learned, the trellis-look knit was designed to emulate the look of the dry-stone walls that edge the fields in the crofting communities of the west coast, which only make me like it more. My knitted cardi surely once belonged to a Cornish granny - and grannies know better than most how to keep the chills at bay. I bought it for £2 from a charity shop in Bude, smitten by its silver anchor buttons.