CUSTOMER SERVICE

What I hadn't reckoned with was that not only does the fire have to be built and lit but the ashes have to cleared out, and the coal and wood replenished.

So before breakfast, I found a tin bucket and swept the ashes into it, and then proceeded to empty the ashes into a plastic bag. But it had a hole in the bottom. Fortunately I was performing this procedure in the garden (no doubt much to the amusement of the neighbours). I then grabbed the coal bucket and headed for the bunker (which is in the garden down by the shed) for a refill.

My arrival coincided with the weekly coal delivery - the coalman was an interesting looking tall, dark fellow with a strong, silent manner and reminiscent of a brooding DH Lawrence or Thomas Hardy character as he tossed the large bags of coal over his shoulder and made his way down the path. His only words 'would ye like me to fill it?' as he saw me delicately shovelling coal into the bucket were met with a grateful 'yes' and he effortlessly tipped coal out of his bag and into my bucket.

Which was great, except I could hardly lift the bucket and I staggered like a drunk under the weight of it back to the cottage.

Then I filled three buckets with wood and put them in the old wall oven in the dining room to dry out (a useful tip from Jeanette).

Then I laid the fire ready for tonight.

Then I collapsed, exhausted but the day had only just begun and as it was sunny and warm - 3.5 celsius, shirtsleeve weather - I took myself off for 18 holes of golf - well, 17 actually, somehow I managed to skip Mallard (5th).

There then followed my second trip to the local supermarket (30 minutes drive away) which is not really worth remarking on except for the fact that everything is in completely illogical places (or rather, not where I would expect to find them at home). Which means having to constantly find a Tesco helper - and they are everywhere, very impressive service. The first thing I couldn't find was harissa (hmmph, they had never heard of it). The second thing was firelighters and the store assistant walked - yes walked! - me to the aisle and the shelf. How polite I thought.

But this is customer service Blairgowrie-style. Every time I couldn't find something an assistant would physically walk me to the correct shelf - frozen pastry (doesn't exist, you get fresh pastry sheets and they are located with the butter); coconut milk (only about 4 tins of light milk hidden behind the baked beans); serviettes (wedged between pens and light bulbs); tzatziki (Er?); porcini mushrooms (hidden behind the tea towels) .. and so it went on, shopping with a permanent store walker at my side to lead the way, terrified I would get lost, presumably. Or maybe my foreign accent was a dead giveaway.

Lesson for today - rethink the menu, start cooking Scottish-style.