A WET SATURDAY

Foul weather has hit the mainland (England) and gradually made its way up to Scotland. 'Once in a thousand year floods' have swept away bridges, flooded homes and taken the life of a policeman.

The river at the bottom of the garden is swollen and the waters are rushing by in cascading white waves. It has not flooded the lawn yet, but we are keeping a watching brief. This morning it was dry but misty all through the glen. As there is more rain forecast tomorrow, I decided to take advantage of the break in the weather and headed out into the fog to play nine holes of golf.

The main course was closed due to floods, which meant that the wee course was very busy, and so a chat with one's fellow golfers to pass the time of day was a natural by-product whilst waiting to tee off. As weather is always the primary topic of conversation here, on a day when it is headline news across the country there was noticeable additional relish and dour enthusiasm. I became quite practised at the following Groundhog Day exchange at the pro shop, with each group of golfers on the course, and in the carpark whilst cleaning my shoes:

"Terrible day."

"Yes, the course is quite muddy."

"Aye, very wet and muddy. Ye'd expect that after all the rain. The main course is closed."

"Oh really? More rain tomorrow, I hear."

"Aye."

Later, because us Aussie girls must stick together, I ventured out into the sheeting rain and up the hill to the lodge which Jenny, the only other Australian in the village, has recently taken on managing with her beekeeper husband. I have offered to help her write her marketing materials.

Perched on a hillside overlooking the glen, the lodge has cabin accommodation, roaring log fires and large bar and lounge areas - perfect for hill walkers, skiers or just a romantic weekend. Jenny gave me the full guided tour which included what would be spectacular views, although these required a little imagination peering through rainy windows at the misty landscape, and an unscheduled wet corridor where a leak in the roof had caused major flooding. Eric, the local handyman, had spent the day making repairs.

After a couple of hours spent brainstorming ideas for Jenny's website over the ubiquitous cup of tea, I went back down the hill and it was time to clean the fireplace out and lug buckets of damp wood from the wood stack and put them into the wall oven to dry. Actually I gave up after one bucket because I was soaked.

Before it got dark, I trudged to the village shop to send a fax. Sally didn't know how to work the fax machine so I went into the Post Office to help her work out the technology. Whilst I say Post Office, it is just a cubby hole really. On the third attempt, we got the fax to go through. There was no cost sheet for sending a fax, and Sally wanted to charge me 10p (20c). I was horrified and insisted it must be more - after all, it was going all the way to Australia. We finally negotiated 20p. Then there was just time for a quick chat:

"Terrible day."

"Yes, it's quite muddy, too."

"Aye, very wet and muddy. Ye'd expect that after all the rain."

"Oh really? More rain tomorrow, I hear."

"Aye."