Don’t count your chickens before they have hatched

Fiona sings the praises of hard-working winter road crews after storm-force conditions force postponement of an important trip

And just when we thought it was safe to come out of the water... We are congratulating ourselves on getting through the winter months. That said, I am full of admiration for the folk who keep our roads clear.

The hundreds of snow ploughs and gritters that suddenly appear on Scotland’s roads, all those plucky drivers and operators pushing snow and spreading salt and sand to ensure we get where we want to go and working round the clock to keep us moving.

This week their efforts allow me to struggle up the motorway in a blizzard to Edinburgh. They also permit me to travel across the border to Carlisle.

Unlike the train, that is, which – in extreme weather – is refusing to take the strain.

This week a long-planned trip to London is in the diary.

A dear friend of ours has a birthday. It is a big one. She wants to push the boat out. And as she is a cockney lass who has fallen in love with Scotland, the celebration will come with a Celtic theme.

The party is being held in the city centre. It is at the Caledonian Club.

And very English guests are being asked to arrive in tartan, with a kilted MacGregor being touted as the star of the show. Yes, the chief has been asked to wear his kilt.

What’s more, he has organised a Scots Guards’ piper to entertain the troops.

The man will come in full piping kit, with the added ritual of the whisky and quaich.

When these Scots turn up, those southerners will not know what has hit them, especially as the chief plans to quote Burns. However, as the Bard himself said, the best laid plans o’ mice an’ men...

The oncoming storm starts on the Saturday when slates fly off our roof.

Then the bins begin to rattle, and the wheelbarrow gets shifted to the end of the garden.

Finally, the radio announcer gives the warning – do not attempt to travel.

Of course, in true northern style we shrug this off as southern softness.

What do they in London know about bad weather?! They’re all snowflakes down there anyway. Then the wind really gets up. And the snow begins to fall. Quickly.

It soon becomes clear that we are

The radio announcer gives the warning – do not attempt to travel

going nowhere. Needless to say, our friend is devastated. How can we not be present at this, her wee Scotch night?

We, too, are gutted. The kilt put back in the drawer. The quaich is placed in the cupboard, with the piper advised to take his own – if he wants any whisky, that is.

All this is good news for some, of course. The MacNaughties see the bags being packed and now rejoice as they are unpacked.

We later hear it has been a great night. Despite the fact that someone forgot to fill the quaich with whisky.

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