Ever since I inadvertently angered the Weather Gods by implying that they couldn’t make it drizzle all day any more, they’ve been steadily proving me wrong. Today, after optimistically putting out and then taking back in the washing, forgetting that Bigtownshire specialises in its own special kind of rain that the forecasters can’t see, let alone forecast, I headed for Bigtown for a spot of history and poetry.
Poetry readings, in my experience, are generally held indoors in the warm and dry and accompanied by wine and even nibbles. Clearly this is a tactical error: it turns out that if you invite people instead to march through Bigtown unrefreshed in the drizzle, instead of the usual turnout of the poet, the poet’s mates, and the odd lost soul who has wandered in by mistake, you get a veritable crowd.
So many, in fact that the combined effect of distance, umbrellas and traffic completely drowned out the poets, so after a while I peeled off to head home while I still had parts of me that weren’t drenched. I clearly haven’t the stamina for poetry in Scotland.
And neither, I noted, do the local cows.
Still, I can at least confirm that the new pannier is definitely Waterproof in Scotland.
More weather related shenanigans to come as we attempt to get to Norn Iron in the teeth of the remains of Hurricane Ophelia…