Taps aff … toories on …

As soon as there is a blink of sun in Scotland it’s case of taps aff, shorts on and doon the park wi’ the weans. But this week that changed. The Beast from the East, Hysteria from Siberia, call it what you will (and you will, I know you will) arrived with a vengeance. Whit noo was the cry? Toories on was the order of the day. Woolly hats with pomme, pommes, North Face jaikets and even skis and walking poles. The guy who invented the woolly hats must have made a fortune. Prince Charles can stick his Klosters up his woolly jumper. B&Q would have sold out of snow shovels had they remained in the St James Retail Park. Big chunky boots or plastic bags over your trainers and ski pants and sledges.  That’s what we’re about now. I put my Christmas jumper on yesterday just to get into swing of things. Kind neighbours delivered the bread and milk this morning. The bread shelves at ASDA are empty though and Robert Ryan is reporting that wee corner shops have no newspapers, no milk and no rolls and he’s shut for the day. I hope his boss pays him his wages. Meanwhile, my darling wife has dug her way out all the way to the FREEZER. I have a feeling there will be something exotic for the tea, something old that may have been long forgotten.  First though I think I’ll have a couple of penguins with my coffee, chocolate ones of course. That’ll be the icing on the cake.

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