It’s only January 22nd – go me.
There’s been a lot of snow. It’s gone now.
Rural Scotland is not cut out for snow – especially when they stop gritting minor roads. It goes all war-time with panic-buying in the shops, and people cooking massive pots of stew that could feed an army ‘just in case’. The bins weren’t collected for 3 weeks, and most conversations centred on the best type of wellies, and whether martial law would soon be declared – it wasn’t, but when I did eventually get into an M&S, there was a young man chasing a wagtail in the sushi aisle, with a large cardboard box. It was a sign I tell you.
Even when they do grit, and the snow leaves, it still feels vaguely 1940’s. Today I drove into Edinburgh but only after negotiating 2 tractors, a fox, and a white van that was carrying stair-lifts. I’m thinking of unravelling old jumpers to knit a balaclava, or maybe some knitted pants – next week, how to crochet a pie.