One and a half weeks ago I have in Gourock for the first time seen a snow-cap on a distant Scotland’s mountain with my own eyes, rather than on a photograph. Last week’s floods meant I only got to my afternoon shift when it was already half gone. I eventually fully realized that the BBC weather news are directly relevant to me. That I’m no longer reading about something happening far away, but about something I can sometimes see from my very window.

Yesternight the Firhill Road was frozen – returning from my pre-bed outdoors fag I saw a taxi skid about-face and into the opposite lane. And waking up today, the snow was here. My first Scottish snow. From the central European point of view, a mediocre winter snowfall. Here it meant amber warning from the Met Office and my bus from work taking half an hour longer journey.

Still, I enjoy it, as one enjoys every such new experience when it eventually happens somewhere he likes. It may become a bother later on; so far I enjoy it as a child or a teenager would.

The snow even looks whiter than where I come from, but that’s no doubt just my state of mind.



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