Here is an important announcement. Owing to adverse weather conditions, this week's column has been cancelled.

Well, it would have been if I could have got away with putting a notice to that effect on a page otherwise as white and unsullied as a snow-covered railway track earlier this week.

For I have been suffering from a bad case of SAD. And that's not, the "winter blues" condition Seasonal Affective Disorder, which medical experts say causes problems such as lethargy, craving for carbohydrates, anxiety and irritability. Anyone who has encountered me staggering around lethargically in the morning, anxiously and irritably stuffing my face with toast, will know I behave in this manner no matter what the season.

No, my SAD is a condition that I have identified as Similarly Afflicted Disorder. Or what my mother once described as "Suzanne's tendency to join in".

In recent months, this ailment has manifested itself as my credit crunch SAD. Demonstrating the herd instinct that my mother observed at an early age, I've joined in the recession zeitgeist and developed a new frugality that means I can't bear to buy anything unless there is a discount involved.

Last week, I had the winter bug SAD, which resulted in me digging out a bottle of flu remedy from the cupboard because my husband had an awful cough and cold.

I hasten to add this was not for him, as he considers himself far too macho to take pills and potions.

However, I swear by this particular product, so I had my bottle handy for when I too caught the bug. I even drank some when I felt a bit headachy, and very nice and warming it was, too. But gradually it became clear nothing was wrong with me, apart from a passing belief that I was similarly afflicted.

Needless to say, when Britain ground to a halt this week, I started to do the same.

My snowy SAD kicked in the moment the first flakes began to fall from the skies on Monday morning. To begin with, I kept going to the window to look out at the new world emerging outside. It was like finding yourself in a new country, without having had to endure the wait at the airport.

Write a column? Forget it. I was busy marvelling at how every snowflake fluttering down was unique, or listening anxiously to the news headlines about how many schools, roads and airports were closed.

Despite the fact that Bristol appeared to be one of the few places in Britain where normal life was continuing, I got myself into such a state of SAD that I rang the person I was interviewing that afternoon and begged for our meeting to be brought forward so I could be sure of getting my boys from school.

So off I went to the rescheduled interview, walking boldly through snow-covered central Bristol. Or, as The Ronettes famously declared: "Walking in a winter wonderland... ooohhhh yeah!"

However, the soundtrack from Phil Spector's wall of sound that had been reverberating in my head was swiftly replaced with The Smiths (notably Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now) as I went slipping and skidding, tottering and teetering along streets where the only thing gritted appeared to be my teeth.

By the time the interview finished and I'd made my way to the school, the cold and wet from the snow-covered pavements had been soaking up through the soles of my shoes.

As I made my way through the car park, I saw another mum carefully making her way through the snow carrying what looked like a small child.

When she got closer, I could see that, in fact, it was quite a large dog. I was just about to ask why she was carrying it, when I saw the creature's expression of utter misery. I could completely empathise. My freezing feet were numb, and in a moment of pure SAD I wished that someone would carry me.

As the week wore on, and one cold day froze into another, my wish that someone would carry me over the icy pavements was joined by a wish that someone would put up that "cancelled" notice on my column.

The fact that Bristol was not as badly affected by the snow as many other parts of the country did nothing to diminish the end-of-term feeling that comes when daily routine has changed, and rather than doing any work you want to get out the board games.

Trying to continue as normal in Bristol while life in many other areas was anything but normal felt like being in the only class still working, while the rest of the school got lessons cancelled and went to build snowmen.

But here we are. The column has been completed. Normal service has been resumed. The bulldog spirit has come through. My latest bout of Similarly Afflicted Disorder has ended – cured by the galvanising effect of a rapidly approaching deadline.