We have just returned from a week in South West Scotland, a fetching corner of the country tourists tend to overlook. Accordingly, we have not seen a Starbucks, McDonald’s, KFC or Burger King in seven days, and have been living among people who know how to prepare a good haggis, appreciate fine whisky and understand the satisfaction of a well-made cup of tea with a plain scone and butter. It was wonderful.
The weather was wonderful, as well, so much so that I begin to wonder about the famously awful Scottish weather; every time I have ever been there the weather has been grand. In fact, the final two days were downright hot, and the Scots didn’t seem to know what to make of it. They told us the previous week had been rainy; it seems we brought the sun with us.
We had many adventures, but I’ll save those for later in the week. For now, suffice it to say it was a good week on many levels but I was very glad to arrive home after an eight and a half hour drive. Trouble was, we didn’t bring any rain back from Scotland in exchange for the sunshine we brought them. When we arrived home, it was positively baking, making the grass look like it should at the end of a New York August instead of the beginning of a Sussex June.
We toured the town after dinner last night and noticed that, in our absence, they finally finished fixing the tiles in the Forum. The plaza is not that old and they have been working on it for ages, with large, fenced off areas filled with cement mixers, piles of stone and wet sand. But sometime during the previous week, they finished, cleaned up their mess and left. It was good to see they spread a layer of litter over the newly laid stones so they wouldn’t look out of place; these guys are thorough.
But that was yesterday; today, I am pleased to note, has brought some rain. Not the usual sentiment I have toward less than agreeable weather, but it was really getting desperately dry here. We can only hope we get a decent amount. If not, I may have to return to Scotland to bring some more back.