THERE is nothing like sleet lashing at your windows and Jack Frost nipping at your nose to make any sane-minded person think about being somewhere else. And if you are like a lot of other people in the world, you will think about being on holiday in France.

It is apparently a fact that just about every year France competes with Spain and comes out tops for the most visited country in the world. I don't know exactly how they arrive at these statistics. Maybe they have men with abacuses at the border crossings, or count the number of croissants consumed during holiday time compared to normal consumption, but it is not only the number one destination for the rest of the world, it is also tops for the French.

I can understand the lure for your average Northern European, sitting in his draughty flat in Rekyavik or Northend and dreaming of sunnier climes further south, but why would a Frenchman fall for that dream of greener grass when he is already sat on the lawn?

I say that as I sit here with sleet lashing at the windows and Jack Frost nipping on my nose in the mornings. I can testify that shifting yourself 500 miles further south doesn't help much in December. A continental landmass gets that much colder in winter (we can get down to minus 15). Come summertime, though, does it ever get warmer - in spades. And therein lies the secret: you only need to throw a few more logs on the fire and bide your time until you have a whole vast country opened up in front of you.

It is an area at least three times the size of the UK, with the same population. People struggle to form a crowd in this country. There are hardly any cities and most of them are smaller than the Bournemouth conurbation. Couple this with the fact that your choice of holidays reads like a worldwide holiday brochure, offering skiing, mountaineering, canals, walking, beaches, casinos, country gîtes and practically any other form of holiday you can think of, and you understand its pre-eminence in the holiday destination list.

And you can start to understand the Frenchman's reluctance to go abroad when he has all of these things within driving distance. On top of that he will be able to read the menus in the restaurants, resist getting ripped off by unscrupulous taxi drivers and won't have to change any currency.

But what is the attraction for the millions of British tourists who venture south, besides the obvious geographical and climactic attractions - is it perhaps something deeper? My theory is that the deep-rooted Socialism in France that despises profit for the individual is the key to its success.

The man who sells ice creams or knick-knacks to the tourists has to be careful not to make too much money, and make himself a victim to the taxman. Therefore he closes his shop for two hours at lunchtime when he could potentially take the most money, or hides his shop inconspicuously and makes sure that he has just enough signs to attract a comfortable minimum of customers. Huge signs begging for customers are vulgar and reek of desperation, and nobody likes desperation but everybody likes a bit of a tease, especially if the goal is attainable and worth having.

So there you have it. France is a beautiful lady on your doorstep. You can woo her, but don't offer her money, and the thought of her could keep you warm on those long winter nights.