Eric's right: only it's better on postcards and preferably somewhere I'm not.
Winters, for me, are not about Santa but about my shirts coming in from a Scottish washing line stiff, arms outstretched as if inhabited by thin ghosts.
Winters in Mallorca are wonderful during the sunshine period, but murder when that Sun goes down. Winter rain is the most depressing type there is: just one degree removed from sleet, it chills you to the bone and getting home helps very little: the walls are either hollow blocks or solid stone, neither of which acually scream welcome. Heating? The utilities company laughs out loud as you run up a fortune in bills, reluctantly and unavoidably heating the garden outside.
Ceylon, anyone?
;-)
Rob