By Maggie Millar
Woke up on Saturday morning to Glenshee’s Facebook page saying: “Great day for sledging.”
Nuff said. Children get packing! Thermos flask? Check. Ski clothes? Check. Petrol? Check.
Fast forward one hour, the car’s making steady progress between Perth and Blairgowrie, when mum calls my mobile phone.
“You’re going sledging? Do you have sledges?”
“Yes, they’re in the shed....in the shed... they’re still in the ruddy shed.”
STOP the car! Okay, deep breath, the options are: 1) Turn back and add two hours to journey 2) Pay £8 hire price per sledge, per hour at Glenshee, i.e. at least £100. 3) Pray for a miracle solution.
Well, there must be a God after all because my prayer was answered by a rinky dink hardware shop in Blairgowrie and we enjoyed a briliant day on the slopes. Duh!
Sunday, mobile phone rings again. It’s mum, again.
“Have you heard about Prince Andrew?”
Hmm. I bet the Queen wasn’t amused when she heard the latest episode in the Andy-Epstein saga.
The Duke lost his UK trade envoy role after being spotted walking with Epstein following his release from prison. What next? Will her majesty send him to the Royal equivalent of Siberia and give him a job with the local council?
Meanwhile, I’ve booked myself a wee break later this month at my favourite spa.
Dressing gown? Check.
Until then, in moments of stress, I’ll just think of Frank Sinatra:
Some day, when I’m awfully low
When the world is cold
I will feel a glow just thinking of ...Stobo.
Dum de dum de dum, de dum.