THE WALK THAT NEVER WAS.

February - and the walk that never was. For something that didn't happen, there was actually a start to the tale of how it did not come to be.

Dave and Sandra were going to take us to Logie Steading for a walk along the Findhorn. That all sounded very nice indeed.

Storm Ciara had just been through earlier in the week and then Storm Dennis (yes, two N's) was due when we were to go walking. There was widespread damage and flooding throughout the country as a result of both storms. Many rivers burst their banks and, suddenly, a walk along the riverside seemed less than wise. We do have a bit of form for taking risks with rising water. Robin and Susan's walk along the disappearing beach at Culbin springs instantly to mind.

However, discretion really did get the better of valour and the Marwicks decided to cancel the walk. If not discretion, perhaps the thought of a number of old codgers out in the lashing rain and howling gale evoked a degree of sympathy.

Whatever the reason, the walk did not take place and for that, I am sure, we were all grateful, because it really was an atrocious day.

From our living room, we could see the wind whipping blustery deluges of rain, snow and sleet in from the west. What you could not see was the Firth.

When you could see the bridge and the Black Isle it was only for a little while and then more weather closed in and blotted it all from view.

You might be pleased to know that the next storm will be called Ellen and she is said to be on the way - potentially arriving before too long.

The official storm season begins at the end of September and storms are named when they have the potential to give rise to Amber or Red weather warnings. Apparently Dennis broke all records for the issue of warnings - over 500 over the UK.

Not walking seemed like the best idea in the circumstances.

But, we didn't all just laze about under the duvet. Oh no! Some of us did stuff and it is that stuff that will be the stuff that has been stuffed into this blog to make it the stuff of legends.

Before we get to the real heroes of the story, battling the elements, laughing in the face of danger and rain and whistling in the wind, some of our number were lazing about in the sun.

At least, that is what they thought they were going to be doing as they walked the plank to their rickety, makeshift boat. The boat that they hoped might get them off the island of terrors to the safety of the mainland. You can tell that Fiona was hopeful, but that was just the naivety and exuberance of youth. Old Man Robin, was a bit more resigned to what fate might throw at him as he trudged towards who knew what! He is an ITCFC fan and he is well used to disappointment and the sheer unfairness of life.

What they had failed to spot was the sight of a slithery little dragon slipping under the tree. Dragons are not, of course, to be trifled with. You don't say out loud that they are just mythical or something that you find on Game of Thrones. Oh no!

Unfortunately, that is exactly what Fiona did. She was just sitting on her magic carpet which had landed in the banyan tree musing to her parents that they should not have taken Daenerys and her dragons seriously. It was just something off Netflix or some other TV thingy. Dragons don't really exist.

Well - a flap of leathery wings later and she was whisked away to the dragon's nest. Help ma Boab and Jings and Crivens! Whit to do?

Climb up and get her back is the answer. So Robin and Susan hired a guy in blue shorts to climb up the mudslide slope using the golden rope. They only have a few clean clothes with them for goodness sake. No point in getting them dirty, if it could be avoided.

Luckily, the wee guy in the shorts knew what he was doing, slayed the dragon and had Fiona back in time for cocktails.

Phew!

Meanwhile, back in Blighty, things were not going as well for Mr Boxhead.

He had been forced into that particular hell reserved for all married men (and Pam) - the loft!

There's stuff up there that has not seen the light of day since we moved house 30 odd years ago! Some of it might well be alive! It is certainly crawling about a bit.

These boxes used to be over on the other side! How did this happen?

The mice must be getting bigger and stronger.

Jacque, don't switch on the lig.........aaaagh

I can still clench quite well, but just in case I've got these elasticated trousers that Billy Connolly gave to me years ago.

Oh No! I've suddenly become half the man I used to be.

I might be half the man, but that just makes me a big kid. I'm so excited to have found all my old friends.

She sells sea shells.

And that is part of the problem. The sale of sea shells is one of only a number of threats to beaches all over the world. If every tourist picked up shells, there would soon be no shell sand beaches left. Of course, there are ethical guides to shell picking and one I have seen has evolved from picking shells from the best shell picking beach in the world, Sanibel beach in Florida.

First of all, don't take spiral shells - they are the favourite home for hermit crabs. Take less or take photos. Shells are used for shelter by some smaller animals. Some shell fragments are used by other creatures to build tubes in which they live. Shells have endless natural uses. The way to look at it is as follows. If one person takes a handful of soil from your garden on the basis that it won't hurt, you would be irritated. If a hundred people did it, it wouldn't be long before the garden had disappeared.

So, now that this has been brought to his notice Mr Boxhead is going to use up tonnes of carbon going all over the world to repatriate these shells in exactly the places he took them from in the first place.

 

What he shouldn't do is put them along the edge of his deck.

Oh dear, that's exactly what he did.

Time he was making tracks to another beach.

Rather than go by train, Hugh and Pam went driving with Amy Grace and Dylan.

You can tell how wet it was because Amy Grace kept her hood up. Either that or she was just being one of these feckless yoofs what have to have their hoods up all the time, no matter what

Oh my, it is a yoof fing. Dylan did the same thing. Why can't he stick to writing like the man he was named after.

We are not wholly bad or good, those of us who live under Milk Wood. Or, my clean favourite bit, before you let the sun in, mind he wipes his shoes. There are a few more risque quotes that I could have used, but you never know who might actually read this.

Of course, Under Milk Wood was not a poem, but a radio play for voices - what else might a radio play be for if it wasn't voices. Pictures don't do well on the radio.

Here they are - please take us home Papa. The driving range is cold and wet and there are some strange people saying some very bad words when they try and hit the ball far. Can we have some juice and chocolate, instead?

Of course you can. I'll get the money from you both later.

While that was happening, in a hall nearby, three and a half hours of Bob and Sharon's lives slipped away without them noticing  and with no possibility of them ever getting it back.

5 million little boys and girls had to fight each other in a Judo festival. Each bout is allocated 2 minutes, although many took a lot less than that, for which we are eternally grateful.

The organisation of the event could have learnt a huge amount from the red jersey Gymfest that used to employ some of us in a former life.

I have more action photos than you can shake a stick at, but I could not possibly inflict that on you. Our grandson, Liam was one of the Judoka taking part. He was full of energy, passion and excitement, but somewhat lacking in knowledge of the rules. Hence he lost his bouts quite a lot. 

Of course, it is the taking part that counts.

Here he is with proud grandparents and his medal.

Do we look a little glazed? We've already booked a holiday for this time next year, just in case....

The day was not lost for Bob, however. He chickened out of getting soaked and frozen - or is that what actually happens to chickens before they end up in the supermarkets?

Instead, he revelled in the Mighty Inverness Caledonian Thistle Football Club thrashing Rangers U21 team 2  1 to reach the final of the Tunnock's Caramel Wafer Cup.

ICFTC is thought to have the longest name of any senior football club in the UK. What must the engraver feel like when they win a cup?

The day wasn't a loss for Charlie and Sue either as they went out for what seems like a nice lunch. It included a glass of red for Chas, whose new shiny pacemaker must have thought it was Christmas.

Cheers, Charlie.

Sue, was rather more abstemious and had a coffee and a slab of cheesecake.

All in all we had some exciting adventures without going on a walk. Whilst I would not want to recommend that we abandon walking with dinosaurs, it is good to know that we have other lives as well. Let's hope the weather is a bit more benign next month.