Snow is just white stuff that apparently only slightly inconveniences the local populace. Now that a semi-thaw has set in, they are bemoaning the fact it may not, after all, be a White Christmas, whilst at the same time proudly claiming the worst winter in forty years.
They may have short memories, I do not. My first week back in the village can be categorised as follows:
Friday. I leave Sydney knowing the Edinburgh Airport is closed, due to snowstorms. I hope and pray that in the next 24 hours it re-opens. I arrive at dawn at Heathrow Airport, but miss my connection. After bouncing around between terminals 3, 5 and 1, I eventually get a seat on a British Midlands flight which flies low over Britain, giving a clear view of an extraordinary snow-covered land. I arrive at Edinburgh Airport having changed into a winter outfit I thoughtfully – and propitiously as it turns out – put into my hand luggage. Although I am here, my bags are not. I queue to give my details and am told my luggage will follow on the next flight and be delivered to the cottage. At least I have a 4WD booked!
The car rental carpark is outdoors and is a mound of snowhills. I am grateful I do not have to try and push a trolley with three cases across the snow and ice to find my car, because at this stage I am still living in a fantasy world and believing in the luggage fairy who will deliver my bags to me later today.
Saturday. The world is very white and very pretty. I am here, safe and sound and joyfully take some photos of the pretty scene outside my door. With Gordon and Jeanette, we head towards the Cairngorms, the roads reasonably passable in a 4WD. Gordon tells me this snow will last now all winter, I wonder why I packed my golf clubs, especially when all that can be seen of the course is little flags poking up here and there out of the white world to denote deeply submersed putting greens.
No luggage. I call the airline and speak to Eric in the Indian call centre. It has been picked up by the courier. It will arrive tomorrow!
Sunday. Thank heavens I left a few clothes behind last year. I can cobble together three outfits although the third one is a bit patchy – thermal leggings and thermal top with a baggy old sweatshirt on top. Still, everyone here thinks I’m bit eccentric so I may as well live up to my reputation. Gordon clears the icicles from the roof, they are hanging down, more than a foot long, and look very lethal.
A young girl, 14, in the Borders suffers spinal injuries when snow she was clearing off a roof slid down, and landed on her back.
No sign of my luggage. I call the airline and speak to Natalie in the Indian call centre. It will arrive before 10.00pm tonight.
Monday. As I walk to the village hall for knitting, I spot Mahri running through the snow. She gets stir crazy if she has to stay indoors. Plain crazy, I think.
My luggage wasn’t delivered last night. We have signs on Jeanette’s front door and my front door, saying “Bag delivery: leave at door”. I cannot risk the courier taking them away if no one is at home to take delivery.
Tuesday. The roads have been gritted and salted. I have an appointment in Blairgowrie but cannot get my car to reverse out of our back lane because the snow is too deep. Gordon – dear Gordon! – gets out the shovel and eventually after several tries we finally get the car out.
In Blairgowrie, I visit Frivols where last year I purchased a (second-hand bargain) mink coat. The owner remembers me and is surprised, in these minus 15 degree temperatures, I am not wearing it. I woefully explain it is currently wrapped around my golf clubs, deep in an airport warehouse or courier truck somewhere in Perthshire. She has a beautiful fully lined full length sheepskin coat. It fits me like a glove.
“Can I trade in the mink when it gets here?” I ask. Yes, she says, and the deal is done.
Home and no luggage. I call the airline.
“It was picked up yesterday,” says Jeremy in the Indian call centre. “You will have it by 11.00pm tonight.”
“But yesterday you told me it was picked up on Saturday.”
“I am very, very sorry for the inconvenience,” says Jeremy and hangs up to talk to another bagless customer, and re-iterate his condolences at their loss.
Wednesday. The garbage collectors can now resume pick-up. An email has been sent with the following instructions:
* Ensure bin lid is free of ice and snow and is not frozen shut as this can prevent it from emptying when it is lifted by the collection vehicle.
* Wrap food waste in newspaper before placing it in bin bags to avoid it freezing to the side of the bin.
* Put a piece of cardboard at the bottom of the bin when it is empty to try to stop the contents freezing to the bottom and remaining in the bin when it is emptied.
* Store bin somewhere that it is less likely to freeze the day before collection, for example in a garage, or a place that gets the sun in the morning.
* Clear a path from the bin presentation area to the road to assist the crew in wheeling the bin to the rear of the vehicle for emptying. If possible, bins should be presented at the edge of the kerbside.
No luggage. I decide not to call the Indians in the call centre today but then I wonder if I can get compensation. So I call anyway. I speak to a nice Indian lady called Felicity or something equally unlikely. She apologises for my inconvenience and tells me I may be entitled to 50 pounds. It will hardly be worth the bother.
* Wrap food waste in newspaper before placing it in bin bags to avoid it freezing to the side of the bin.
* Put a piece of cardboard at the bottom of the bin when it is empty to try to stop the contents freezing to the bottom and remaining in the bin when it is emptied.
* Store bin somewhere that it is less likely to freeze the day before collection, for example in a garage, or a place that gets the sun in the morning.
* Clear a path from the bin presentation area to the road to assist the crew in wheeling the bin to the rear of the vehicle for emptying. If possible, bins should be presented at the edge of the kerbside.
No luggage. I decide not to call the Indians in the call centre today but then I wonder if I can get compensation. So I call anyway. I speak to a nice Indian lady called Felicity or something equally unlikely. She apologises for my inconvenience and tells me I may be entitled to 50 pounds. It will hardly be worth the bother.
Thursday. Jeanette, Gordon and I go to Perth. The Perth Council is a disgrace, the roads are icy and treacherous, even the 4WD skids everywhere. The talk everywhere is of a thaw and three days of milder weather before the next cold snap. I am very pleased I purchased the sheepskin coat. Maybe this fella could use one:
It is 5.00pm when we get home, and dark. But there is a partially discernible mound outside the cottage door. Yes! One of my cases awaits. As I unpack the frozen contents, I marvel at all the clothes I have brought with me, and wonder what on earth I need them all for. After all, I have managed very well on three outfits and two pairs of knickers.
Friday. Temperatures are rising. Tempers are rising. Paul and Therese arrived back from New York last Thursday and they wait for their luggage too. Paul is a conspiracy theorist. He says my luggage has been delivered because I had a Priority sticker on it. Personally, I think it was just nearer than his to the loading dock door of the warehouse, but he will have none of it.
Where the sun permeates, the snow is thawing. Where it is dark, it merely melts and then turns to sheet ice. Walking anywhere is a triumph of balance over hope.
I call my Indian friends to find out when my other bag will be delivered.
“To be honest with you madam, I have no idea,” says Nathan or Neil.
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