This weekend, we headed out to Dartmoor for a Christmas lunch with friends. 

Our plan was to drive onto the moor, go for a stroll and a clamber across the tors for a couple of hours, and then head to the dream of a pub that is the Rugglestone Inn for their legendary fried brie and a good pint.

As we zipped down the A38 and the first rolling moorlands came into view, our driver gave a sharp squeal of delight - there was snow up on the moors!

We pulled into a carpark opposite Haytor and ran up towards the great, old rocks.

As we walked (and jumped and ran), the snow crunched beneath our boots, muffled in the still air. Hordes of well-prepared families turned the slopes into sledging runs, with their brightly coloured jackets turning Dartmoor into a pastiche of a retro skiing postcard.

With no sledge of our own, we set off for a little stroll around Haytor, whilst we waited for the second carload of Christmas revellers to arrive.

Despite the snow everywhere, it didn't feel too cold - although it must have been because incredible ice formations had crystallised on the tors. I don't think I've ever even seen icicles before so this was very exciting. Beneath the sheets of ice on the rock, the melt water slid down towards the ground, creating the prettiest light effects.

By this time, the others had turned up so we went back around to the front of the tor to meet them. And then the silliness began.

I got well and truly pelted with snowballs (which hit a lot harder than you'd expect!) and sought my revenge by sneaking up behind my targets and shoving snow down the neck of their coats. The snow had accumulated fairly deeply in parts, and we scooped it up in abundance, seemingly regressing back to... oh, no, we've always been this childish.

Alan took the opportunity to launch a surprise attack whilst distracting his victims with icicles...

And then we embarked on a snowman-making mission! The snow was wonderfully dry and sticky, making it absolutely perfect for rolling up into balls. Half the team got stuck in, making the head, torso and base, whilst the others hunted around for sticks and stones to decorate with.

James, who had started the entire enterprise, had accumulated a rather impressive boulder of snow to be used as the base - but he wasted it when he decided it would be a good idea to try and knock Laura over with it. He missed - and the labours of a good fifteen minutes were lost as they bounced off a rock and smashed into the gorse. Never before have I wished more that I had been filming at that moment.

After picking up the various parts of our snowman and trying to stick him back together again, we abandoned giving him arms (having only found two small, dried fern leaves) and turned him into a reindeer instead. Although the result was probably more nightmarish than anything else...

An artistic piece entitled "the cretins and the culture vulture".

(That had originally been a penis angled near the mouth of Joff and James', ahem, art. We made them change it - there were too many kids around!)

The sun had come out by now and was warm on our hands and faces. As a result, the snow receded invisibly, seeming to simply disappear without even leaving the faintest of slushy traces. Evidently still in a childhood state of mind, we began to climb over pretty much anything we could get our hands on, stopping by to stare in awe at each iced-over puddle and daring each other to try and cross frozen pools.

By midday, our stomachs were fairly vocal and we began to loop back towards Haytor in the golden light.

Who needs to travel to Yosemite and see Half Dome when you have Haytor right on your doorstep, right?

As we headed back to the cars, we passed a man who we had spotted earlier, making snowballs for his dog to chase (neither were getting tired of it apparently!) and had a last flurry of snow fights ourselves.

And then it was down into the valley to the Rugglestone!

There was no snow here sadly and the day had become overcast once more but I still think that the Rugglestone is one of the prettiest pubs you could ever find.

Our table was still occupied when we got there so we hung around in the gardens with a pint and watched the ducks and chickens waddle about, chase each other and just generally get up to no good.

Once inside, we abandoned our bags and drinks on our table and headed straight to the bar to order our food - we were ravenous! One of the guys working at the Rugglestone mistook our drinks for those of the previous group and only realised once he had poured them all away - so we each got another free pint which wasn't bad at all!

And the joy only continued when the fried brie arrived. Battered, oozing, and served with redcurrant jelly, it's probably enough for a main course on its own!

(So far, I have been the only person out of the group to manage three courses at the Rugglestone - and I've done it twice. Power to me.)

In fact, the brie is so good, it's become a bit of a religious experience for some!

If you ever go to the Rugglestone, make sure you have the brie and then go for the sticky toffee pudding for dessert too. You will not regret it.

And that was the end of what I would call a pretty damn perfect day.