No, actually, it won't. If you're in the sort of physical and mental state that needs doing good to in the first place, chances are that a march in the open air will not do you anywhere near as much good as a sprawl on the sofa with a gin and tonic in your hand, a Ray Winstone film on the television and a plateful of Bakewell tart and whipped cream. And this is true.

So I really don't know why I let Mr Young talk me into a walk this morning on what was clearly the coldest day of the year.

"Come on!" he said, while I buckled up my thermal underwear, forced on three pairs of gloves and pulled on my ridiculous fleecy hat. "It's not that cold. Don't be such a baby."

He was lying. It was piercingly cold outside.

"Shall we go back now?" I asked him. "Haven't we gone far enough?"

"You haven't even reached the bottom of the drive," he said. "Get a move on. You'll soon warm up."

We strode off down the road. (I say "we"; Mr Young strode while I performed the sort of knock-kneed shuffle that comes from wearing jeans over two pairs of leggings.)

Not a soul was about. No cars, no people, no traffic wardens. Even the hardiest of dog-walkers were indoors, presumably enjoying their own gin/Ray/Bakewell combination.

Once we reached the boardwalk down by the river, the reason for my enforced stroll became clear as Mr Young whipped out his camera and began taking photographs of frosted webs and fronds and leaves.

"Look how delicate they are," he said wonderingly, while I stamped my feet up and down to keep warm. "Do you think they are called cobwebs or spiderwebs when they're outside?"

"They're called Let's Go Home and Have a Hot Cup of Coffee," I said. "Come on!"

We marched on a little further. I could tell that Mr Young was dying to zoom in on a few more delicately frosted miracles of nature, but the only delicate frosting I wanted to see was the icing on the slice of carrot cake I was planning to have with the aforesaid cup of coffee when I got home.

"Those ducks don't seem to mind the cold," he said, a little further on as we passed a couple that were swimming in sluggish circles on the only unfrozen patch of water.

"Well, how exactly do you think you'd be able to tell if they did?" I asked scathingly. My jaw was numb and the thermal underwear was chafing uncomfortably.

He mimed a duck gingerly dipping a webbed foot into cold water and then shivering extravagantly in a Daffy Duck sort of way. I would have laughed if I hadn't been certain that my lips would crack and fall off. Besides I was still cross; I had been taken out of a warm house under false pretences. Never mind the fresh air doing me good, he had just wanted a companion to marvel at nature and hold his zoom lens. And no, that's not a euphemism.

Saturday

In a brilliant twist of fate, Mr Young has come down with a cold, moping about and sneezing melodramatically. Unfortunately for him, I'd decided that we needed to go shopping in Queensgate; it's not often that I want his opinion, but today was that day.

"Come on! Pull yourself together, man!" I said, adding triumphantly, "You know the fresh air will do you good!"