House-sitting in Istanbul in a Cihangir flat with a splendid view over Sarayburnu, Kadıköy and the point where the Bosphorus empties itself gently into the Sea of Marmara. At least it should be a splendid view were it not for the cold Siberian blasts that have been holding the city in its icy grip since I arrived. Sitting on the couch wrapped in a tartan blanket and clutching a hotwater bottle, I’ve gazed out in amazement as the far shore literally swam in and out of view through a thick white veil of mist, at times so dense that it even wiped out Sarayburnu too. The rooftops beneath me are ridged with snow, and the screech of the seagulls seems somewhat incongruous in this new white world.