Dreich Room

In the house I grew up in, there was an attic room my mum loved, with a beautiful view over the valley of Strathmore. She could sit up there for hours. Not waiting for the weather to turn, the way the rest of us do. Just watching it be what it was. And in Scotland, what it was, was usually grey.

I used to rib her for it. That’s no an attic, I’d tell her, it’s a dreich room, for watching the dreich ootside. She would laugh, pull her cardigan a bit tighter, and stay right where she was, the rain coming in soft over the fields and the kettle never far away.

I didn’t know it then, but she’d taught me the whole thing. That there is a warmth to bad weather when you have somewhere to watch it from. That grey isn’t gloom if you’re cosy, and in good company, and in no great hurry to be anywhere else.

That is Dreich Room. My mum’s attic, opened up for anyone who wants one. Pour something hot, turn the light down low, and watch the weather from somewhere warm. It’ll likely be dreich. That was always the best part.