Lawrence of Inverurie
It’s been yet another sweltering day in the Shire and the dust storms are gathering. Folk down south in England-shire have been blessed with the odd thunder clap along with some marginally lower temperatures. But us folks, up in these north-eastern realms, have been denied even a modicum of drizzle. My neighbours are complaining. Not about the weather – they are in the main soaking in the hot sun – but about the dust. Folks in the likes of Cairo are used to such troubles as each year a few inevitable sand storms envelope the city. The temperature drops to a balmy 5 degrees C or so and both the pyramids on the Giza plateau and the door to your flat are sand blasted almost to oblivion. Masking tape and tightly closed windows are to no avail as the inevitable detritus of the desert storms march through the gaps. It’s the same in Inverurie. A new secondary school is under construction just at the foot of my long garden and the sand dunes will no doubt form a part of it. T...