COLUMN: What Weather, What Rain, What Wind, and What a discussion
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The Postie Notes by Mark Gilbert
Summer review continued. What Weather, What Rain, What Wind, and What a discussion about the weather I would have been having with George Macintosh, the stalwart behind the counter of Bettyhill Post Office, who passed away suddenly, earlier this year.
The experience at the counter will never be the same again, especially about the weather, because George had a weather station at his house on Achina – which I call “Millionaires Row” – and he would get the app up on his phone and give you a live update, and what to expect.
He was usually better than Carol Kirkwood on the BBC, and many of his customers relied on his forecasts in deciding whether to hang their washing out, or not. But his descriptions of the differences between passing showers were finite. Driech, Frasach, Fluich and Smoogach were very entertaining, but I never could say them right!
Prince Charles returned to Strathnaver as King Charles when he discreetly came fishing. He has local ties in this area, he honed his fly fishing skills on the River Naver when he regularly visited the King's residence as a young man.
There were lots more campervans to the area than usual, and noticeably more foreign number plates than I’ve seen before. The use of passing places seems to confuse visitors and is a frustration to local folk just going about their daily business. I was delivering around Invernaver when an old Land Rover came chugging past, with a police van behind it, they had just passed the big blue sign that says, “Police Notice – Allow overtaking” and I thought to myself that by the time I had delivered to the last few addresses, and headed for home, that they would be long gone.
How wrong could I be? When I caught them up, near the top of Apigill, the police van was still behind the Land Rover (LR), they were doing just about 30 mph and the police were doing nothing to improve the situation. In fact, the LR was continually over the centre line going downhill. I even pulled out and flashed my lights, but still the police did nothing. There were around seven vehicles behind me by now, and when I turned into Borgie, the police were still following the LR towards Tongue. Perhaps we need the motorbike cops back to educate them both?
The usual verge cutting by the council was replaced with pot hole filling, and they did a good job, but the bracken on some of the narrower roads was like a guard of honour, and when it was so heavy with rainwater, it folded onto the road from both sides and was quite eerie to be almost encompassed by it.
I encountered a few cheery cyclists, OMG, but only a few, the rest were as miserable as ever, ignoring my cheery “good mornings”. When there was a big party of cyclists staying at one of the local hotels, I asked the proprietor if he had given them their “miserable pill” with their breakfast, just to set them up for the day. There’s a question, what do you call a collective of cyclists? I’ve got a few suggestions, but the editor wouldn’t print them!
Just to show that even in the vast area where I stay, it can still be a small world. I was returning home along Strathnaver when I met Andy the Bailiff at a passing place, we had a brief conversation and I said that I had been to a private birthday party at The Garvault, it was Ollie, the manager’s 60th.
Andy then asked if the ceilidh was good, I said it was great, but how did he know, he said he was out earlier, and a fiddler had stopped him and asked directions (does that sound right?). The ceilidh was fantastic and the musicians very talented, but Stripping the Willow is very challenging for an older man of certain proportions!
Mark Gilbert is a postman in the Bettyhill area
