After a long and very busy Christmas period my boyfriend and I recently decided to spent a long, chill-out weekend away in the Scottish Borders. At least that’s what we had planned!
Our rental cottage on the edge of an estate outside Hawick looked perfect and with the recent mild weather we planned long walks with a return to a cosy fire, drinking malt whisky and eating healthy food (now, that’s what I call balance!).
The best laid plans…
Mother Nature had other ideas and we had non stop rain for the three days. The local river burst it’s banks (apparently there was river water running through the steets of Jedburgh) and the fields near our cottage emptied of sheep and filled up with water.
But at least we were cosy inside, and there was a collection of box set dvds in the cottage that we worked our way through. Until Saturday lunchtime…
It started with a tapping sound in the kitchen (the cottage was open plan) and we realised that there was a leak. That part of the cottage conversion was an extension and it had a flat roof (in Scotland? Don’t architects ever look at the average rainfall statistics?)
So a quick call to the factor didn’t produce anything other than an answering machine message and a promise to be in touch on Monday morning. So we took things into our own hands and thanks to a quick Google search called a nice guy called Kev who apparently is a specialist for flat roof repairs in Hawick. He arrived, did a temporary patch and promised to contact the owners on the Monday.
It struck me that we would have struggled to get that kind of service in Edinburgh, where something would have been done to help and the service provider was confident that it would all work out and they would get paid.
That’s one of the nice things about getting out of the city and heading to the smaller towns. Folk are just that wee bit more relaxed, there is less intensity, and if things don’t all get done today then there’s always tomorrow.
So with our ceiling drying up and the drip-drip-drip into the bucket on the kitchen floor becoming a drip——-drip————drip we carried on with the box sets and made the best of a welcome break.
By Sunday lunchtime we emerged bleary eyed from too much tv and perhap a little too much whisky, blinking into the watery sun. The drive home was glorious, driving through the Borders (surprisingly green for this time of year). We hardly said a word, as if trying to hold onto the cosyness and peace of our cottage holiday.
As we came down the road it was time for one last treat. We drove into Morningside and stopped at the Comiston Fry for our favourite special fish. It’s good to be out having time in the country, but there’s nothing like the choices we have on our doorstep here in the city. As the first chip popped into my mouth I was glad to be home.