Apparently, at some time today, all hell is going to break loose on the weather front with gale force winds, thunder snow and wall to wall disruption across the county. Drivers are being advised to pack shovels and a Thermos in their car, just in case they get trapped in the expected blizzards, and people are being told not to drive unless absolutely necessary.
What is more likely to happen is that there will be a feather like dusting of the white stuff, and the little old lady who lives down the road will skid on an ice puddle outside her house as she turns out of her drive, steering her car into a nearby hedge at around 5mph. She will then slowly reverse out of the hedge, and continue her onward journey.
Am I a cynic? I don't think so. It's just that 53 years have taught me that this time of year is called 'winter' and appropriate weather should be expected. What we all seem to suffer from is 'contagious weather syndrome'. Just because Scotland and Wales are getting it, it doesn't mean that it's going to head our way too. Of course, this blog could come back to bite me on the backside...time will tell...
So expecting yesterday to be the last day I would be able to get out of the house for some time, I took the two furballs for a long walk up the Clumps (I promise you that this is a real place, and not a seedy reference to something unsavoury). I have to drive to this place for our walk, and the two dogs, who have done this many times, start to work out where we're going about ten minutes before our ETA. They start with whimpers, gradually building up to a full scale stereo barking concerto. I have a Mini, so tend to get one in each ear, shouting for all they are worth.
As you can imagine, by the time I reach the carpark, they are chewing on my hat and still barking, and rather than looking forward to a lovely walk with them, I would rather be reaching for a cold gin and tonic. Yesterday, we took the bottom path, as it is fenced off from the rather large cows which frequent the Clumps. I'm always wary of these, so it means I can let the boys off their leads, and enjoy our walk in peace.
So you can imagine my horror when we rounded the corner to be faced with six of the beasts on my side of the gate. Some wag had propped a stick against the gate allowing them to wander in to no-cow's-land. I put the dogs back on their leads, and there was a bovine stare off as I looked at them willing to get out of the way, so that I could get through the gate. Then one of them started shouting. I am presuming he was the ringleader, as he was sporting a curly perm, and had had his horns cropped, making him look like a member of the Hells Angels DairyLea Chapter. Reg, who up till now had been quite curious, wagging his tail and straining on the lead to get closer, suddenly stuck his legs into reverse and shot back behind me, dragging Percy with him (never, ever, ever use a lead splitter with two dogs - they gang up on you and pull you all over the place).
He also started barking very hysterically, which made the bull (I checked his undercarriage) flare his nostrils and start walking towards us, followed by his harem. Now I had a vague memory of the Mother saying that you shouldn't panic when faced with this situation, and I am pleased to report that I completely ignored her advice and turned and ran like hell back down the path. Luckily, the small herd weren't built for speed (neither am I, but it's surprising what you can do when you put your mind to it) so we lost them at the next gate which I firmly shut behind me.
And so ended another day....