Who doesn't love mashed potato? Every meal in winter should be served with mash. Lamb shanks, pie, stews. If not mashed potato then dumplings. When is the last time you made a dumpling? Not only for main course but for dessert too. Or if potato is not your thing do the other p. Pasta. More specifically pasta bakes. Or the other p. As in pot. As in one-pot. And the ultimate one pot – the slow cooker. And it's not just about dinner. Let's think about baking. Pies, muffins, biscuits and cakes to get you through the week. When you're stuck inside on a miserable day, what better option is there than to cook.

Game of Thrones got it right. Winter is coming. Nothing dramatic ever happened when it was 40 degrees outside and everyone was lolling about sweating in their underwear. Since learning about pathetic fallacy while studying King Lear for the Higher School Certificate back in the day, it's a literary device I've often applied to life. Wind, storms, rain, grey clouds are made for drama. So is the cold. The Ice Storm is one of my favourite movies. It never would have happened over the Fourth of July weekend.

As much as it can be fun to strip down to a bikini, I'll admit I love a good beanie. And scarves. Never been one for gloves as I like my fingers to feel the cold. And everyone needs a good coat. Or two. And that's the thing. You can take these things off. I'm sitting here in a sleeveless dress today. Layers discarded. It's warm in our office. It's warm in peri-menopause. You can walk around the house all day in your socks and your dressing down and no one minds. Thermals are de rigueur.

Is there anything better than a sideline on a Saturday on a fresh winter's day? Nope. Especially if there's a pie involved. For a day at your child's cricket game to be classed as pleasant needs several things to fall into place. No wind. Not too hot. Not too cold. Shade. Cold drinks. But for 80 minutes you can stand the frost, the wind, a little rain even. I love it when the game's so hot there's steam rising from a scrum. When their cheeks are flushed pink with exertion. And when it comes to playing yourself, we all bemoan those Sunday night games when it's below 6 degrees but we complain more when finals weekend in October is in the 30s.

Who doesn't love a bonfire? Or an open fire? A suburban fire pit? Or even, at a pinch, a sweet-smelling candle? There's something about a naked flame that's so wintry. Something to snuggle up in front of (snuggling, another reason to love winter, see below), something to toast marshmallows over, something to drink mulled wine by, something to thaw out by after an afternoon on the sidelines. Winter would be perfect if only they would bring back cracker night. A bonfire, fireworks and friends and family. The perfect winter get-together.

Working up a sweat in bed can be a good thing sometimes, but not every night. Body warmth means something in winter. A good reason to move closer, to reach out in the middle of the night. You might both need to agree about the rules governing sock wearing but true winter love can even stand unshaven legs. And we'll lump sleeping in here too. Sunday mornings that are dark and, even better, if it's raining and the noise on the roof lulls you back to sleep. What reason is there to get up anyway if you can't do the washing, or mow the lawn. Or get up and put something in the slow cooker and go back to bed with a book.

I spent a winter's day in the Lake District in England once and it was so cold my lips stuck together. Canberra has never been that cold. OK, it did get down to minus 10 degrees once in 1971 and I do remember that spate of minus 7s we had when pipes would freeze up making it impossible to shower before work. The dog's water bowl freezes over regularly. I have seen hockey fields ice up on a Saturday morning and the fog roll in making it impossible to see attackers coming at your goal until they were on their 25. But my lips have never stuck together.