Today it didn’t rain. Yesterday it did rain, but only in the Trossachs, and on the spire of Inverness Cathedral. I journeyed out in hope, but soon found the wind biting into my cheeks.
‘It’s cauld,’ said a man of few words.
‘Aye,’ I said. What would we find to talk about, if we didn’t have the weather?
‘I got off with that girl who works in WH Smith, last week.’
‘Frost predicted,’ he said.