Internet dating

I have just had my first internet date. Not one that will lead to a marriage proposal, but nevertheless it was quite exciting.

It has been a lengthy courtship.

During my first visit to the village, back in 2009, I was happily blogging away to friends and family with my news and exploits when suddenly a person called Hazel sent me a note.

Hilarious! Glad you're getting into the swing of Scottish village life. I'm just down the road and I'm sure you'll have a lot more adventures with the locals as the winter progresses.

Who is Hazel, I wondered. More to the point, how did she stumble upon my ramblings. And if Hazel had found me, how long before my stories of village life would be stealthily passed in the dead of night from cottage to cottage; across the shop counter; or read out in the pub bar? Then, it would only be a nanosecond before messages of Traitor! or Gossip! were graffiti-ed on my car, dead birds put through my letterbox and backs turned on me as I walked down the lane …… it didna bear thinking aboot. Perhaps I should starting packing my bags now.

First, I decided upon a little detective investigation. Soon, I uncovered that Hazel lived quite some distance away – her reference to ‘down the road’ was measured in country rather than city miles – but that she had recognised some of the places I mentioned and ‘knew exactly where I was’. Somewhat chilling, but at least she wasn’t one of the locals!

Mostly, I forgot about Hazel. Although one day I was shopping in the Scottish Woollen Shop in Blairgowrie when I noticed the sales assistant had a name badge: “Hazel”. Fearful she might be my Hazel, when she asked if she could help me, I just shook my head, not wanting my accent to give away my Australian-ness and ducked quickly out of the store.

Another time, I was invited to Dawn’s for tea and was told another lady, Hazel, was invited too but sadly unable to come. Phew! Close shave – If this Hazel were my Hazel she would know at once who I was. Dawn, who loves being the first ‘in the know’ would be straight on the telephone, letting everyone know that the Australian writer was writing about the village.

I told myself I was being silly. After all, Hazel is a very common Scottish name. I put her from my mind.

The day I left after my first visit, I had another note.

Will miss your postings. It's good to know that the hospitality shown 'Up the Glen' is still the same as when my ancestors lived there with the same strong community.

So it was that Hazel and I began occasionally corresponding. At each visit, she would welcome me back, and later wish me safe travels home. I would reply with my thanks and a bit of banter about the weather.

Over time, I felt our relationship was stalling, and needed an injection of excitement. So I took the bold step of writing to suggest that we meet.

Hazel invited me to her farm.

As I drove down the winding, single track lane, to her farmhouse – an isolated property with no neighbours – it never occurred to me to wonder if I was being a little foolhardy taking off by myself into the wilderness of the Scottish countryside to see a perfect stranger and giving no one any indication of my whereabouts. If this was Midsomer Murders, I would already be a goner.

Hazel took me on a tour of her home, which includes two cottages she rents as holiday homes, and lastly to her studio where she enjoys her hobby, scrapbooking, before we retired to her kitchen table where we sat to enjoy that Scottish staple, a cup of tea.

I never felt under threat of being pushed into the coalhole or in danger of being locked in the stables. Her dogs did no more than lick me, and whine when I ceased to tickle their ears. There was not a hint of poisonous bitterness in the tea. An hour later, when I went to my car, the tyres showed no sign of any tampering and I made it safely home.

So it is that I have survived to tell the tale of my first internet date!