Cavan Calling/Steph Booth: Driving back from Dublin recently, I was caught up in snow blizzards. I think it was probably the scariest driving ordeal I've ever had, despite fairly extensive experience of driving in Italy. There were moments when I quite literally could not see the road ahead of me.

The optimum solution would have been to pull off the road and take shelter somewhere. Unfortunately, however, the N3 is not blessed with too many stopping places and I thought if I just stopped the car I would get cold very quickly. I was also concerned that if I could not see, other drivers would face the same problem and a white vehicle in the snow would be especially difficult to spot, even with the lights on.

Gripping the steering wheel, white knuckled, anxious and praying I would not skid, I managed to reach the safety of home. Despite my fright it was useful in finally persuading Tony and me that we have to change our cars.

Being life-long urbanites we arrived in Ireland with cars suitable for that lifestyle. We discovered we had to keep the cars for a year after moving here in order to avoid paying substantial import duty. At the time that did not seem to be a particular problem and on and off through the months we have discussed what we might do in February. We have realised, especially after my ordeal by snow, that a 4x4 is probably essential for living here.

Both Tony and I, along with many other people, have always been pretty scathing about 4x4 drivers as our only experience of these vehicles was seeing them used to tackle the tough terrain found in many English towns and cities on the way to Sainsburys or local primary schools.

These drivers were responsible for causing massive queues in the roads around the schools and for taking up two spaces rather than one in car-parks. There is a scene in one of my favourite films, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe, where the character of Evelyn Couch, played by Kathy Bates, is deprived of her legitimate parking space by a cocky young female. In a classic and wonderful worm-turning moment, downtrodden Evelyn fights back, driving her car repeatedly into the vehicle of the stunned younger woman.

Despite occasional severe provocation I haven't actually done this myself, but it would be an urban 4x4 owner who would be the most likely to enrage me.

As you might imagine, I am then a little sheepish about confessing to our friends we are planning to swap our cars for a 4x4, but I am finally convinced of their usefulness. However, neither Tony nor I is especially clued up on the subject of cars and now that we have started looking there seems to be an infinite number of these particular vehicles on the road. I can already see some heated disputes lurking on the horizon. I think a black one would be nice!

Rather perversely, as I have just been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis, I have also changed my mind about knitting. I have decided I might quite enjoy this activity. When we first moved into our new home Tony, the family tea monitor, was deeply concerned the tea cosy could not be located.

For the purpose of domestic harmony I tried to buy a replacement. I was not successful, but the kind woman in the shop in Manorhamilton suggested I could knit one. Rather embarrassingly, Tony had to suppress laughter at this proposition.

The situation was made worse by the surprise of the shop owner when she discovered I was not terribly keen on the idea. She became concerned for the standards of the English education system when she learned I had not been taught to knit at school. I hastily assured her I did know how to knit, but I felt it prudent not to repeat the family legend of my grandmother starting a baby vest for my mother and finishing it in time for my birth. Disappearing for a few minutes into the back of the shop, the woman came back carrying needles, wool and a pattern for a tea cosy. In the circumstances, pride dictated I should promise to return the following week with the finished article.

I did actually make something that resembled a tea cosy, but it was so big it would have covered a gallon pot. This is obviously a failing in the English education system that the minister, Ruth Kelly, needs to address.