Christmas seems to have parked itself in front of the telly and proceeded to tuck into the season’s chocolates – there’s no avoiding her any more, she’s here and she’s going to sit on the sofa for the next weeks, so you’d better get used to her.

The festive fable of the Bear and Hare will be everywhere, the programmes on television will seemingly shrink to a slither between incessant adverts for toys, all of which will be bound to break into pieces before New Year.

We’ll eat ourselves silly and those of us in the hospitality trade won’t have a moment to breathe until Boxing Day and beyond. I’m not going to complain about that.

I’m a fully paid-up member of the pro-Christmas party this year. I love it – I’m excited, like a kid in a candy store.

I have to admit that there has been no dating at all for me this week, as it saw a dabble of interesting media type things.

Tuesday was a fascinating Audience with Martin McGuinness for an Al Jazeera television programme being filmed at the Oxford Union.

On Wednesday I was invited to be sausage advisor for the Kitchen Cabinet on Radio 4 with one of my food-heroes, the writer Jay Rayner.

Thursday saw a Ceilidh in my little restaurant for 200 dancers and the week culminated with Saturday at the Fireworks, then – the true herald that the festive season is here – the Christmas drinks party at Blenheim Palace.

I mused half-way through the week that it’s all well and good having a buzzing social life but these are surefire days when you really wanted a partner, just to be able to share some of that excitement. Other people seemingly have the same thought, as it’s the time of year when people flock to the dating sites, as their numbers soar through the roof, with people desperate to get a date for the Christmas office party, or for a last chance at having a nice present bought for them, instead of the standard family offerings of scarves and ill-fitting sweaters year after year. This week’s article was submitted late because there just are not enough hours in the day and if you’re going to get into this online dating malarkey, it takes a fair bit of time to find anyone you’d find even vaguely interesting.

That’s particularly true when you don’t think you’re there because you’re desperate, but because you’re just picky and only want someone who stands a real chance of making your life a little more exciting than it already is.

It’s difficult enough that every single female writes the very same thing in their profiles; they all want to save the world, they’ve all seemingly thrown themselves out of a plane at some point in time, and they’ve all been a bridesmaid, but never a bride. They also have a full spread of nieces and nephews around them, reminding them at every turn that they need to get a move on, that time and tide waits for no woman.

Then you find that the ones you’re interested in aren’t from anywhere near Oxford, and I’m certainly not going to choose to get into a distance relationship. Because I’m male, and therefore unable to multi-task, everything else gets shelved for hours on end. But this week, I’m determined to go on some exceptional dates doing as many Oxfordy things as I can do with a short period of time. I’ll take my narrowboat Nina out onto the Thames for one of them, I’ll head out for a wintry walk, I’ll dash through the Ashmolean with the most seemingly cultured datee, and take one to Blenheim Palace for a walk around the grounds – there’s no more scenic setting in Oxfordshire.

If I see you there, I’ll be sure not to let on that we’re both on dates.

 

I’ve kept quiet about my other woman, Nina the Narrowboat, for the past couple of weeks, because I have to admit, I’ve not been very fond of her.

As the thermometer dropped, so did the temperature on board, as I struggled to make head or tail of how to work the complicated battery system out, how to ensure that I powered kettles, heating, lights and even a spot of television from a couple of hours of running the generator or the engine.

It’s like learning an entirely different language. When you’ve spent your whole life supplied by mains electricity, you never think of how much power a simple household toaster or a kettle could draw. Did you know your morning cup of coffee will draw more power out of a battery than fifty light bulbs running for an hour or eight hours of television? It’s amazing, learning about all of the wigglies and things behind the electric supply that never need considering during a normal day.

It makes you very economical and do things in a way that are good for the environment, as well as for your batteries.

I used to run the tap while I brushed my teeth, I’d leave the shower running while I shaved, I’d be ever so self-indulgent with my resources but now I’m a new man.

I’m strict, I use heating, lighting and even electricity when I really need to – I don’t leave standby lights on, I don’t squander what we have and I think it’s something that would benefit many of us. We’re most likely all guilty of using more than we need to – there are no batteries running flat which warn you to ration yourself – but it’s been quite a cathartic process.

And just yesterday, I have to say, I found my Zen.

My father and his brother, both electrics gurus, came to Oxford from Pembrokeshire, armed with tools, wires, meters and bags more patience than I have ever been equipped with.

While the ladies sewed a new patch into the cover, so my view of the river could be clearer than before, the fellas scrabbled around on their knees and ensured that each bit of wire did the job it was designed to do.

So, last night, when I returned from work to my house on the water, I was able to really enjoy her.

I went to bed warm, I sipped a rum and ginger overlooking the Thames as the mist settled, and I woke up this morning to a hot shower, as rowers darted past.

Life’s good and living on the water is a real treat... just as long as you’re not cold!