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Summertime

Finally, the sun is out. Global warming doesn’t seem to be affecting Scotland; each year I wait for summer, and each year it seems to start later and later.

To celebrate the tiny bit of warmth in the air, I bought a daffodil-yellow dress from a shop on George Street; one of those shops that sells dresses for posh occasions. I don’t usually go to places like that, but perhaps I should dress more like an adult. It may help me behave like one.

I wore it yesterday to work and when I met Moràg for a drink in the evening, I was quite surprised to see her wearing the same dress in green. Great minds think alike, I suppose. The green wasn’t such a nice colour as the yellow, and I was reminded of how teenage girls often dress very similarly to their friends. I wonder when she bought it, and how she could have afforded it; she earns even less than I do. I had to buy her drinks all night because she said she doesn’t have any money left until next payday.

We were drinking in Deacon Brodies, not a pub I like very much; it’s usually full of tourists who go there because of its link to ‘Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde’. But it has big mirrors and so we could see our reflections. I suppose we looked quite alike in the mirror.