British Summer Time
The clocks went forward by one hour today which means it's officially British Summer Time. In Inverness the sun was shining and the temperature soared above 14 degrees celsius. That, of course, prompted many of us locals to discard our woolen pullovers in favour or short-sleeved shirts and purple goosebumps. I'm sure that was also this year's motif at the Paris fashion show.
On ³ÉÈË¿ìÊÖ Radio Scotland, however, I overheard a rather unseemly exchange between our gardening presenter Frieda Morrison and trad music guru Robbie Shepherd. The ugly details of the row need not detain us here, but suffice to say that Frieda suggested that Robbie had never used a wheelbarrow in anger. Well, you could have cut the atmosphere with a rake and I expect legal proceedings will ensue.
Meanwhile, back in the sunlit rubble of our back garden, I was instructing the Zedettes in the art of lawn-seeding. To be honest, this was not a major project. Having de-stoned a square metre patch of soil outside the back door, we sprinkled some grass seed and drenched the area with the watering can.
Now, I have no idea whether anything will actually grow on this tiny area, but I like to think we'll always remember the fun we had trying.
And maybe that's what British Summer Time is all about.
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