52and39/24 Don’t touch that dial

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The dial’s changed to summer, with intermittent cross-broadcasting bouts of cold spring and wet autumn filtering in.  It’s still Scotland, after all.

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Wet pavements and foot-ways have changed from dark, splashy marl slabs or muddy, oozing foot puzzles to muted, boney hues.  Shoes come home clean and dry. Jackets sometimes stay on the hook.  Everything’s easier.

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Petaled, leafy performers in gardens come back every year to play the same show.  It’s as if they discuss wardrobe all winter, then reveal themselves; the same but different to the same but different audience.

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52and39/13 Special Delivery

Spring’s arriving in Edinburgh.

It’s not coming all at once but rather in a series of packages that fight through the wind and the rain before bursting open.  Little love bombs of colour and sunshine, drying things out and birthing newness that winter had put in a cupboard and told us to forget about.

Everyone seems happier, kinder and more open in the sunshine.  The summer we arrived in Edinburgh was grim.  The weather was awful and people were not for talking.  I realise I can take that less personally now.

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