Adventures on Blackford Hill, part two: the howling

I LEFT you last week thinking about my trousers. I had been about to describe these, as a preamble to recounting the tale of my adventure up Blackford Hill in a blizzard.

However, I have not yet done with my anorak, as I had forgotten to mention the hood.

This is a splendid affair, which has a kind of peak at the front. The whole edifice is tightened with toggles, which will later play an important role in our tale. Between the hood and the main body of the anorak come two layers that wrap around a chap's neck. You can set these so high, and the hood peak so low, that all passing citizens in the street can see is a red nose coming at them through the mist. I have been known to laugh maniacally to enhance the disconcerting effect, though I do not recommend doing this to policemen who, in my experience, have little sense of humour. How does laughing maniacally and having a red nose constitute a breach of the peace? The case is at the European courts, and I will let you know how it pans out anon.

Now, to my trousers. I have a fine, thick pair – billed by Rohan as proper winter breeks – but was in such a hurry to leave the hoose that I forgot to put these on. I do not mean to say that I wandered down Bluebell Avenue dressed only from the waist down in my pantulations and hosiery. I wore, instead, the pair of troosers in which I'd been stravaiging around my centrally heated home, strong but thin breeks bought at Lowestoft Herring Drifters' Stores in the Northlands. I have around five pairs of these, as I am a man of habit sartorially. I've an equal number of Helly Hansen T-shirts, of a sort no longer made, so that my basic pre-anorak appearance is generally a reliable one that does not frighten or discombobulate me when I look in he mirror.

I will not describe my boots or socks, as you will be anxious to get to the meat of my adventure in the blizzard. Suffice to say, I'd opted for one boot for each foot, with a concomitant sock arrangement. You will have your own methods, but this one works for me.

I set off briskly down the street, pausing only briefly to pee against my favourite lamppost. The weather was fresh, to say the least of it, though not severe enough, at this stage in the suburbs, to require that I put up my hood. Soon, without too much difficulty, I arrived at the duck-pond. The place was full of gulls. Only rarely do I take bread, as there are signs up warning citizens not to feed the wildlife willy-nilly, for fear of making them as bloated as the average shopper at Asda. Plenty of people do, anyway, though there are fewer breid-bungers aboot in winter, when you'd think the birds might need it most. In summer, the feathered welfare recipients more or less swim on a sea of bread, though I suppose there are young to feed, and they are as well reared on Allinson's wholemeal as anything else.

I took a left up a path leading to the lower slopes, and there met my mate Bob and his bonny mutt, who'd both come to live in Scotland after finding it too hot in their native Sussex, as would I. Like me, they preferred to stravaig among the cooling tempests of Blackford Hill. Bob and I discovered much about which to talk, exchanging yarns with gusto. But, soon, we both became aware that the sky overhead was darkening. We parted, and he was the last man I saw on the hill. His mutt was the last mutt too.

Bob had advised avoiding the top of the hill, as it was hellish breezy, and I took his advice, partly because I still had things to write to deadline and needed to get back, and partly out of fear. The brow of the hill can be fierce at the best of times but today, one fancied, the wind might sweep me into the air, so that I'd fly for a bit over the allotments, before coming down to earth – or to someone's shed roof – with a bump.

I see we are nearly at the end of our allotted time again, and I have not yet come to the blizzard that I promised you. Well, I hate to say it, but it is your fault for letting me witter on aboot trousers, hoods, and so forth. Next week, I promise to bring you the blizzard and will describe to you the mysterious green domes that loomed up out of the mist.