Summer In Scotland

How vividly I remember staring out of my front window on a dreich, howling-wet morning last November and wishing it was the following summer. This is my own personal homage to Sunday the 21st of June 2026, otherwise known as Midsummer’s Day. I have no doubt that you’ve all been there before.

Incidentally, a translation into English will be available to those of you from south of Hadrian’s wall … for a small fee, of course!

What will I wear today, I wunner?
Especially noo that it’s Midsummer.
A T-shirt and a pair o’ shorts?
‘Don’t be daft!’ her voice retorts.

‘Hae ye seen yon big black cloud oot there?
Yer dress sense fills me wae despair!
Goin’ oot like that would be pure folly,
Put on mair claes, an’ tak’ yer brolly!’

Ten minutes later, just the ticket,
A’ happed up like a peehoose spicket.
An’ up the woods wae my twa dugs,
The sweat fair poorin’ oot ma lugs.

The sun is oot, the skies are clear,
I’ve got it wrong again, I fear.
Palms a’ sweaty, oxters hummin’,
An’ a’ because o’ that daft wumman.

By one o’clock, I’ve showered an’ changed,
Light summer clobber rearranged.
Back up the woods by quarter-past,
Seconds later, soaked tae the arse.

The rain is fairly stoatin’, peltin’,
My spirits they are slowly meltin’.
My T-shirt welded tae my back,
My shorts near hauf-way up my crack.

I get back hame, and change once mair,
‘What the hell’m I gonnae wear?’
An’ curse the bloody Scottish weather,
An’ yet again, she starts tae blether.

‘I’ve watched the forecast – nae mair rain,
A heatwave comin’ in from Spain.
A week o’ cloudless skies, I hear,
Barbecues an’ ice-cauld beer!’

I light the coals an’ oot she takes,
The burgers, chops an’ sirloin steaks.
Twae minutes later, a’ I need …
Hailstanes stoatin’ aff my heid.

I howf the tatties ower the dyke,
As fierce a temper as ye like,
Then calm back doon once I remember …
It’ll no’ be long tae next November.