Despite the fact that I had never been tobogganing, even as a child, nor ever in fact embarked on any sport which involves downhill slopes and snow, they would not be deterred. I harboured a small hope that the village shop would not stock toboggans, thereby thwarting this dastardly plan, but no such luck - as ever our local store came up trumps.
My adorable family even went and scouted the local countryside for suitable hills to slalom down at breakneck speeds and unfortunately for me, found a friendly farmer only too willing to offer his field for the purpose. The fact that a fast flowing burn ran at the bottom of the slope did not seem at all suspicious to my family. Haven't they heard that not all Scots approve of anyone from south of the border?
As the day progressed and the clock showed 2.00pm I decided that the plan had obviously been shelved, as darkness would soon be upon us. Young Max, aged 11, had stayed overnight with me and we had spent until 1.00am last night playing Scrabble, before advancing to Rude Word Scrabble (double points for every dirty word) in the morning. We were about to start our third game for the day when there was a rat-a-tat-tat on the door, and with the arrival of my brother Johnny, my fate was sealed. I was given five minutes to dress up (thermals and two pairs of socks mandatory for this extreme sport) before having my so-called 'treat'.
Nine of us and two dogs headed for the farmer's field. There was much chuckling amongst the gathered throng who seemed to think it was a hoot that they were going to get Auntie Sarah sliding down a Scottish hill on her backside and hopefully ending up rolling over in several feet of snow.
The boys showed me my equipment:
I gingerly sat on my toboggan (looked more like an oversized short-handled plastic shovel to me) and set off.
"Lie back!"
"Put your legs in the air!"
"PUT YOUR LEGS IN THE AIR!"
Och, it was a braw day! Thanks guys!
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