The build up to this week’s adventure has at times been palatable. The boys have been fairly tenacious while I have been trying to get ready to travel, get some work done on the computer, and make sure the livestock have everything all in order for a few days.
It was looking calm, until the message came through from Tim yesterday.
“It’s not looking great for flying today…”, before the following message:
“And….cancelled”
Yes, the grandparents were move from on call to activated and the handover started. Handovers for cows can be fairly simple in the summer months: there are (insert number of cows), if one is legs in the air, call the knackerman. If they are ill, call the vet. Here are the two numbers. In the winter, there is a bit more attention needed. They are in the byre so have hay for munching on, straw for bedding, and a water trough that can freeze. Similar for the boys: food, drink and sleep requirements (and preferably none of the straw or hay is incorporated into any of those).
Today’s forecast is apparently more optimistic for Tim getting off the rig. The cancelled helicopter flight was due to swirly wind (rather than straight wind). Helicopters apparently don’t like swirly wind which is understandable.
In the mean time, the adventure to Oxford has begun. The first train is running, they seem to have staff (although that can always change), and no mention of weather affecting this bit. The next stage will be the interesting part, I need to navigate across a part of London.
“Well, the English language is spoken, albeit different dialects, in a few different countries.”
“Are you flying”
“No, train, so hence why it’s going to be a long journey”
“Ooo, do you go through the big tunnel?”
“No, I’m not going under the sea, I’ll stay on the ground (well, hopefully)”
“Is Oxford not in a different country? How can you get there without the tunnel?”
“Well, a lot of delivery companies think there is a sea between us and ‘the Mainland’, but there is in fact, nothing stopping the trainline from going all the way from Inverness to Oxford.”
And that was the conversation with my kids today. The main discussion for them is my upcoming trip to Oxford. Oxford is not somewhere where I have been before. I had never contemplated ever going until a surprise phone call a few days before Christmas and suddenly an expedition and a half was needing to be organised.
Travel is going to be interesting. I was against flying. It would have been cheaper and quicker but I really didn’t want to choose it. I had no ambition to take the car. We have an electric car and I get separation anxiety when away from our solar panels and charger. Getting to Edinburgh or the Western Isles is fine. Going way down south? Hmm, no thanks. So train tickets were purchased. Yes, I will be going through a tunnel (aka the tube in London, not the tunnel that goes to France as I have had to explain to my son). Getting there looks promising. As long as the trains work, they have staff, the weather is dry, no wind, snow, or rain, and it is neither too hot nor too cold, I should arrive some 11 hours after leaving.
The ticket coming back is a different matter. I have four different connections; I would like to remain the optimist but recent experience with trains mean I have little confidence that I will make all the connections (or that the trains are going to even run). I have less hope that I will get a seat.
So that’s the travel bit. But I have a bit of a dilemma to make sure I can make the 07.55 train to London Kings Cross on Wednesday. Tim is due home tomorrow (Tuesday). That is if the weather is fine, flights run, the wind is low, the fog remains far away, etc, etc. I don’t usually plan anything the first few days he is due home as we are well familiar with travel disruption, particularly at this time of year. Between him arriving home and me leaving on a train is about 12 hours. Very little room for lightening strikes to ground helicopters. For Cinderella to get to the ball, I don’t need a giant pumpkin, but on call child, cow, sheep, and hen care to take on all responsibility until he returns. And so enter my parents who are now on call to cover anything and everything (hopefully it will mostly be child duties as the cows and sheep got bedding, bales, and buckets today to tie them over; the hens are fairly self sufficient as long as the water doesn’t freeze). And hence all of this is why I’m having several conversations with the boys as to how things may pan out over the next couple of days.
And all this to make a wee trip to Oxford. Do I know much about Oxford? No, other than I like the Oxford comma. But this trip is not so much about Oxford, nor grammar, as it is the event that I’m going to.
The baltic air seemed to permeate through clothing like it was red wine to a white sofa. The water had an inky blackness, its surface smooth, no hint of a breeze, and went as fair as the eye could see. The sun had not yet risen, the darkness hanging on just that little bit longer. The journey started, smooth, the water parting as we passed though making good progress, gliding seamlessly.
That is, until we reached the downhill bit. Because no, we were not in a boat looking at a peaceful lake, but in the car on the school run looking at a dirt track that had had snow, and then compacted snow. But it had started to melt. The water sitting peacefully on top of the ice, quite content not to move, and I had not put snow chains on.
The back of the car swung starboard. My oldest asking me, in awe, how I had just managed to get the car to move that way. Two hands gripped the wheel, we realigned, before it then decided to swing port side (which was better, less of a ditch off that side of the road). The back of the car was eager to catch up to the front, it was not happy at the back. The front wheels then decided they wanted to try a glide before a few rough stones stopped the slide and got them back to the usual roll. And then, it was over. The council road was before us. We had reached the end of the mile and a half track in one piece, a car that stayed on the road, and two children were shipped off to school. The sail boat was put away as the snow chains came out to get back home.
And then, it was gone. The snow covered fields, the frozen water pipes, the sheets of ice disappeared. The water trough flowed once again. And so, until the next block of artic blasts come our way, I have no plans to go sailing again.
Birchwood Croft, Inverness-shire 