For two days now, Scotland has been thrashed by an Atlantic storm, familiar to all those who have spent any time here. Some simply draw the curtains, make another pot of tea and dream of distant, sun-drenched holidays. That is understandable but their loss.
For me it is changing light, a wild glory of mood swings that gift both Scotland and its people their sinewy character, their dark humour, their embrace of life’s contradictions. It is why Los Angeles struggles to connect with the heart; why the Big Yin claims wellies as Scottish national dress; why, through our Breton bridgehead, even our Auld Alliance cousins have learned to celebrate life’s more perverse moods.