The Bone Collector

WE went swimming in the sea last week, on the hottest bank holiday Monday in recorded history. From Beachy Head to Bangor, from Yarmouth to Argyll, the country lay under a purging sun set in a blue sky.

- Jason Goodwin

When I tuned in to the radio, the weather forecaster explained that the astonishing high summer sizzle would last a couple more days, affecting the whole of Britain. Except, she added as an afterthought, for a band of low pressure bringing some rain over the Western Isles.

That is, of course, what you get for holidaying in the Western Isles. Kate flung back the curtains to reveal a solid sheet of thin rain, driven by mist, which had begun to lift by the time breakfast was done. Outside, the midges rose in swarms, prickling at our ears and eyes and making the dogs cry.

Throughout the day, various parties clobbered up and disappeared into the mist. After lunch, the last of us set off for the beach, windscreen wipers at medium throb. That’s when we heard about the heatwave paralysing the rest of the country.

The young people decided, wisely, to run to the sea instead, tearing across the machair and over the dunes. The water was greenish-grey, flecked with long strands of weed.