It’s never a good sign when people keep tweeting you the weather forecast in your area. We’re heading off home tomorrow and it looks like we’ll just miss Storm Frank* but not, perhaps, his soggy aftermath. SEPA’s flood warning manages to be both vague and ominous, talking about highest water levels ever and basically putting the whole of Bigtownshire on flood alert. Despite living on the side of a hill, we can still get flooded and this time two years ago we were sitting in Salt Lake City airport under an improbably blue sky getting tweets about the rain at home and we returned to find that the flood water had got into the shed and found our heat logs, which was how we learned that when super-dried pressed wood products meet water, they turn rapidly into piles of fluffy damp sawdust. This year we did move the heatlogs to higher ground (and by ‘we’ I mean ‘the other half’, obviously) before we left but not, I realised guiltily last night, the bikes. What kind of a terrible owner am I?
Here it’s been cold – too cold to make cycling or walking any real fun (we were reduced to stretching our legs in the Pueblo Mall the other day, don’t judge me) especially after I developed a clogged-up ear possibly from insisting on going out for a walk in sub freezing temperatures. But I can hardly complain given what everyone else is suffering, from tornadoes wiping out parts of Texas, to the horrible flooding in York and Hebden Bridge.
Now all we have to do is cram all of our purchases (you can buy an enormous amount of secondhand books for a $50 gift voucher, I’ve discovered) into our suitcase and hope we’re not over the weight limit. It’s been nice, as ever, to see a bit of winter sun and real winter cold. It will be even nice to get home too, however soggy it may be. If only to discover what’s happened to my garlic …
* And can this be the last year we give them names? It’s clearly just giving them ideas above their station.