THE Inuit famously have 50 words for snow, but inhabitants of these fair shores have topped that figure with a tally of 421 according to University of Glasgow researchers who are compiling a new Historical Thesaurus of Scots.

The vast and imaginative Scottish vocabulary used to describe the white stuff ranges from the straightforward "snaw" to "feefle" (to swirl round a corner), "spitters" (small drops or flakes of wind-driven rain or snow) and "flindrikin" (a slight snow shower).

Then there's "skelf" (a large snowflake), "sneesl" (to begin to rain or snow) and "feuchter" (snow falling lightly in odd flakes). My own favourite: "snaw-pouther" meaning fine driving snow. It has a lovely ring to it, don't you think?

Still, I would hazard that there are even more alternatives when it comes to another word in the Scottish lexicon: midge. The likes of "flippinblighter" (a nip to the back of the neck), "youweebandit" (leaves scabs on the scalp) – and copious others terms not suitable for publication in a family newspaper.

I know this because I used most of them on a trip to Skye last week where I encountered midges as vicious as any biting or stinging insect I have experienced (and that includes a night spent in a treehouse in the heart of Australia's tropical rainforest).

My mother and I were idling in a quiet layby on the A851 waiting for my husband to finish his cycle so we could load the bike back onto the car. A sudden black haze appeared. Within minutes it resembled a scene from The Walking Dead as marauding midges swarmed in search of fresh blood.

By the time my husband appeared over the hill on his bike, the car was engulfed. Such was their number, the sky darkened as if dusk had fallen. No amount of clever manoeuvring could shake them off. Conceding defeat I clambered out and into the fray where I was bitten to ribbons.

It looked as if I had been ravaged by chickenpox, my skin covered in angry red dots including one particularly fetching bite under the eye which swelled up as if concealing a large conker. Cue Greta Garbo-esque sunglasses for the remainder of the day.

Afterwards we would tell everyone they were as big as dogs. But that may just be the hysteria talking.

I've always found it a tad odd that the official animal of Scotland is the unicorn when the midge is far more prevalent. When did you last hear someone complaining about having to slather on gallons of Avon's Skin-So-Soft in order to avoid being poked in the backside by a unicorn's horn? Exactly.

Skye was lovely by the way. Not even feeling like an extra in a zombie apocalypse movie put me off.