A fine Scottish winter tradition
We have spent the day with cousins, playing a curling match on the lochan above their house. Seven inches of ice and thick, billowy blankets of snow, with Ben Lawers turning pink in the freezing afternoon sun, made it a beautiful day. Friends joined us from Crieff and Strathearn, one with a new baby strapped to her. Our skip (captain) clearly knew exactly what he was doing although, sadly, that didn’t make up for the amateurishness of the rest of us and our team lost to the home side 5-4. We were curling with stones and a silver-mounted brush belonging to the great-grandfather of my husband and his cousin, so it was all rather historic and memorable. A hundred years ago such matches were very common, but in these days of global warming (discuss) even the oldest member of the party couldn’t remember when he last had a curling match outside. We came home after a splendid tea in freezing fog, minus 9, with the icicles glittering from the gutters of the houses we passed and the boys fast asleep in the car. Think I am about to follow their example and drag myself off to bed.