The clouds are so low and thick I imagine myself in one of those films where Morgan Freeman is God to Steve Carrell or Jim Carrey.
It’s beautiful, but my view is that a decent summer holiday should be somewhere that is barren and bleached by the sun, not green and lush and therefore wet and overcast for much of the time.
I digress. It takes 3 hours driving through sheeting rain between huge lorries to get us from the Borders to the middle of nowhere. Didsbury wife knits happily, looks serene and occasionally pats me in a ” just keep driving, no more coffee breaks” kind of way when we pass the many Costa fleecing points. Didsbury son is chirpily tired from swimming and moves seamlessly between cross-stitch and 3DS. Trying to shut out the sound of Fearne Cotton and Radio 1 in general I realise I have spent hours chewing several conundrums in this week of English looting and soul searching…Ooh, a fir tree.
1. Black Pudding supper, White pudding supper or Haggis Supper? When will the English catch on to what we really want – offal, barley and all in batter.
2. Scotland is foreign, I spent Sunday afternoon in a decent sized town searching pubs like some go getting Greyfriars Bobby trying to find The Premier League on SkySports and what did I find? Kilmarnock v Hibs and fat boys playing catch in a warm up for the soon to bore world cup of fat boys playing catch. It’s an outrage.
3. My abiding visual of the week of riots, looting and political knee jerking comes from photoshoplooter of hoodies braking into No. 10, genius.
Look, a tree.
4. Didsbury son played and slaughtered me at Super Mario, laughing quite rightly at my dimwitted ineptitude. Not only am I a Didsbury Dad. I am my becoming my own Didsbury Dad. I look at Didsbury Son, in 35 years it will happen to him too.
5. Driving across the magnificent Forth Road Bridge and taking in the splendour of nature that surrounds it all I could think was East Fife 4 Forfar 5.
I may settle for haggis flavoured crisps and a nip of something patronising.