A FROSTY HOGMANAY IN SCOTLAND
Hogmanay can be fun if you find a place where you can bring in the bells with friends and enjoy a good old-fashioned Scottish dance. It doesn’t matter too much if you know the dances but my wife and I used to go to the dances when we were teenagers, so we can jig and waltz OK.
We also have two Scottish friends that we have known since back then and they invited us a few years ago, to join them for the Hogmanay party at the Rugby Club in Stirling. The music was good and at half-time they served “haggis, neeps and tatties” with a vegan version for those who were not in the haggis clan. Just before the bells, the band stopped playing and everybody went outside to the car park.
It was a crispy night but there wasn’t time to worry about the cold. We looked up towards the outline of Stirling Castle and the night sky exploded with a fireworks display. As the glow of the last pyrotechnic floated down, we all hustled back into the warmth of the hall. A few more dances brought the flow of blood back and then it was time for “Haste ye Back” and “Auld Lang Syne”.
Festivities over and out into the wee small hours of the New Year, a white hoarfrost had spread across the landscape around Stirling Bridge of William Wallace fame. But our lady host decided that the night was not yet finished; she wanted to go to “first foot” her daughter about half a mile away. We arrived to find them with a houseful of friends. After a hour or so we set off again into the frosty night and walked back to our friends’ house, again about half a mile but by now the frost had really set in and I was glad they’d invited us to stay with them. The gritting machines were having a night off and the roads and pavements were quite slippery. I’d taken full collision waiver on the hired car but sliding into a ditch somewhere doesn’t equate to a happy new year.
Next day we drove back to Broxburn on the west side of Edinburgh. The temperature had risen a little but I still drove with a bit of caution. We spent the day with son and family. They had enjoyed Hogmanay with another family in the street. When evening came it was decided to have a Chinese takeaway. My son and I went to collect it. My hired car was last into the driveway so I volunteered to take it and drive. The frost of the previous night was gone.
Driving back I was aware of a car following quite close on my tail. After a few hundred yards, my son said, “They’re wanting you to pull in.”
“Why?” I asked. “Who are they?”
“Don’t you see the blue light. They’re police. That blue light says you have to stop.”
It was just a small blue spot-light above their registration plate. I live in Spain and you know if there’s a police car behind, wanting you to stop. You get the full blues and twos.
By now we’d arrived at the turn-off for our street so I turned left, found a place to pull in safely, and stopped the car.
I rolled down the window and a police officer leaned down to my level. Scottish Police don’t carry guns and are normally very respectful when they stop you.
“Good evening, Sir. Are you aware that you were driving dangerously slow?”
“I usually drive in Spain,” I said. “Also, this is a hired car and last night the roads were covered with ice.”
He leaned a little closer and I could see his smile, “OK Sir, thank you. Happy New Year.”
It’s been the family joke ever since. “Grandpa got stopped for driving too slow.”
