When I left the village, which is located somewhere in the Scottish Highlands (rest assured, I do know where I am, I merely wish to protect the natives from my ramblings), it was early January and Scotland was enveloped in snow and suffering its worst winter for about 50 years. The effort of departure had been a nightmare with cancelled flights, an enforced stayover in Edinburgh, treacherously icy roads and snow banked high.
It seemed highly improbable that such weather would repeat itself for many years.
Ha!
On my return, just three days ago, it was as if time had stood still. The snow was still falling, the countryside a mantle of white, with England and Scotland groaning under the weight of unseasonably early huge falls. Yet again, my flights were cancelled but finally I reached Edinburgh. Even if my luggage didn't. And still hasn't. But let's not spoil a good story with my small problems of, let's face it, no smalls. Or no golf clubs either but if the doom-laden forecasters are to be believed it's unlikely I will need them anyway:
(the ninth hole at Dalmunzie)
Sitting in Jeanette's bothy, just minutes after stepping through the delightfully familiar gate, comfortably ensconced in front of her blazing fire with a cup of tea AND a glass of Edradour (whisky), we settled in for a gossip and yarn about the past 10 months. Three hours, three cups of tea, three large Edradours later I staggered the short, but icy, walk to my cottage, almost grateful that I didn't have to face unpacking.
Since then I have caught up with a few old friends and noticed that whilst everything is the same, there have been many changes to people's lives. I look out of my window to the same snowy scene I left - it is almost spooky, as if there has been no gap in time - yet there have been deaths, illnesses, love affairs, weight loss, tales of depression, hardship and gain.
But some things remain exactly the same. I knew for certain I was back in village life when marvellous Dawn, the 86 (or perhaps 87 now) matriach who is currently isolated in her log cabin at the top of the glen, telephoned me at midday and said she wouldn't hold me up because she knew I was leaving at 12.30 for Dalmunzie. The village tom toms at work!
But it is Eric, the local handyman, who first voiced what everyone else has since echoed: that there is as much snow now as when I left, so surely I am somehow the catylst for this never-to-be seen-again-after-2009-once-in-a-century dastardly harsh winter.
I secretly harbour a suspicion that, in fact, the snow never went away, and I am just the excuse everyone is keen to point their icy finger at.
It's alright for them, in their snug boots and warm coats - spare a thought for the Aussie still waiting for her mink coat to arrive!
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