The planet is burning, and now people are heading north, just like swallows

My niece, who lives in France, was recently marooned on the Outer Hebrides by an amber weather warning. Storm Floris raged through, cancelling ferries, corralling tourists in damp cafes.

- Melanie Reid

This week, she texted a horror emoji about her second amber warning, this time from home in the Pays Basque, for danger of death in 39C heat. "I want to come and live in the wind and rain of beautiful cool Scotland," she said.

It used to be a weary trope. Living north of the border, you got mildly irritated hearing about heatwaves and drought down south as rain battered the windows and you lit the wood burner. You saw nothing remarkable in TV weather graphics forecasting 15C in Scotland and 30C in the southeast of England.

Routinely twice as cold, twice as wet, Scotland is where evenings warm enough to sit outside are as precious as rare jewels. Here you measure summers in fleeces: it will be two-fleece, one-fleece, maybe light-fleece if you're lucky. But never, ever will it be no-fleece.

Dear chilly Scotland: even as I write, it's 29C in London but it's 14 here, and I'm one-fleece, contemplating a gilet.