Susan Morrison: Winter’s here to (sideways) rain on our parades

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Looks like we bypassed autumn and just went straight for the winter option this week.

One minute we have sunshine, and then the next the rain’s coming at us sideways. And it was being thorough about its job, by teaming up with a particularly insidious smirr.

This means, as we all know, that water will seep down the collar of your jacket, and permeate to your very semmit. I trust we have all donned the winter semmit? A cloot ne’er to be cast until May is oot, remember.

Sneaky puddles will form where you least expect them, and the icy water will use your denim jeans as a wick, cladding your legs in freezing wet cloth.

It’s amazing how long socks stay wet and very, very cold. You’d think that you’d build up some sort of body heat inside the shoe to warm the water trapped between the foot and the outside of the shoe to create a sort of mini wetsuit, but no.

With the wind and the rain come the sneezes. Everyone seems to be coming down with That Wee Bug That’s Going Around, but we still soldier on, coughing, snorting and being generous with our bacteria and viruses, and steadfastly ignoring any reason to stay indoors.

Should Scotland ever be hit with a zombie-creating virus, we’d hardly notice. Mind you, as far as I can see, what seems to happen is that people feel a bit woozy, fall over, look a bit under the weather as the virus turns them into zombies, and then they get back up again.

Admittedly, they don’t look that great, but have you glanced about an early morning Lothian Bus? Or, come to that, a late night one? I rest my case. You’d hardly notice the difference, apart from the fact that your fellow travellers were drooling a bit and taking bites out of one another.

Compared to some behaviour you see on the 22, that’s an improvement.

Dogs failed in bridge drama

You bet dogs are smart. Remember Lassie? Saving kids down mines? Not a problem. Toto from Wizard of Oz? Got paid more than some of the actors on the set. Laika, the doggy cosmonaut? Admittedly, that didn’t end well, but it wasn’t the dog’s fault.

Then there’s Greyfriars Bobby, who managed to get fed for donkey’s years for nothing. You’re not telling me that’s not clever.

So how come none of the clever dogs in Edinburgh spotted that there were explosives buried next to the Forth Road Bridge? Or, more sinisterly, did one of our canine friends bury them?

Snookered by pesky pooches

Last week I mentioned how often I’ve been impressed by the excellent owners who clean up after their dogs. I’ve counted at least half a dozen in the past few days in parks and streets all over the city.

So where on earth do the mysterious dump-and-go dogs come from? You know what I mean. There’s nary a sign of a canine, but somehow a foul little bundle has been dumped on the pavement, or on the path of an otherwise pristine park or, even more mysteriously, in part of a children’s playground where there is a sign on the gate which clearly states “No Dogs Allowed”. Don’t tell me dogs can’t read. Nonsense. Those beasts are way smarter than we give credit for.

Do these offending dogs live alone, perhaps? Clever though they are, lifting anything when you don’t have an opposable thumb is a bit of a nightmare, I imagine.

It’s how I know that painting of the dogs playing pool is a fake. Yes, I know, sorry to break it to you. Dogs can’t hold pool cues, you see, so that’s why you won’t see a Border collie heft the world snooker trophy any time soon, even though they sport the regulation black and white outfit.

The best way to feel soup-er again

We fear no zombie apocalypse. The Scots can stand defiant before any threatened attempt to reduce us to mindless, shuffling, dribbling undead, who would thus be able to work without rest breaks, holiday pay or pension rights.

Hold it. Think I’ve just got myself a standing ovation at the Tory party conference.

We know how to make zombies shamble off like vampires fleeing garlic. We would stand shoulder to shoulder and face down this menace with soup. Yes, I stand second to no-one in my admiration for the curative powers of Scottish soup. Only last week, the girl-child and myself were struck by the horror of That Wee Bug That’s Going Around.

To La Cerise of Great Junction Street, to load up on its outstanding leek and potato soup.

Within the hour, we were near recovered, and ready to take on the world. I have no idea why we aren’t feeding this to our athletes. Bet there isn’t a drugs test for leek and potato, or good old-fashioned chicken soup.