Author: hilary jocelyn

January 25th was Robbie Burns Day and all around the world us Scots gather to celebrate the poet, to eat haggis and maybe to dance a reel or two. I decided to post this account of my recent trip back home , so pour yourselves a wee cuppa tea, and sit and sip as you read this blog…..

While it was pretending to be congenial and pleasing, I knew that November could well have a few nasty characteristics hidden up its sleeve, especially 4000 ft up in the sky. It may have been acting like it was September, but I wasn’t fooled.

 I realize, as I write down some of my life’s adventures, that perhaps I am like a cat, with the proverbial nine lives.

I’m not sure what happened next, but suddenly I was running, pounding the Glasgow pavements methodically, as my rainboots jarred to the ground.

The peace lasted a few sacred minutes and then mama began to flail. She let out a blood curdling scream that was more suited to Halloween than April Fools’ Day and then cried out. “It’s coming!”

Slowly, I begin to bond with this little cat in the stable. I sing a Scottish song to her when I bring her food, and she pricks up her ears.

I slipped and I stumbled, falling inelegantly, as I tripped over the snow, landing somewhere on my face or elbow, many times over.

I have been lost more than a few times in my life. I mean physically lost. The kind of lost where I really do not know which way to turn no matter how hard I try.

I work on the sixth floor of an old building, and as I meander up the metallic staircase, I often pretend that I am breathlessly lumbering up a mountain

The place had an air of vibrancy and hope, and the crowds of people gathered there were smiling gleefully, and greeting each other joyfully, as if they hadn’t seen each other in a very long time.

By about halfway through the fourth day, I was definitely beginning to fray at the edges. My thoughts began to hover unhappily on the reality of the miles and days we had yet to go. We were after all, not even halfway in.