and the funeral rites. In the evening we wander by the faithful hound amid the throng, find a show. The town struts in the glare of the sun but the heat mugs me, back at the hotel I’m too tired and too hot to sleep. I lie panting in the shadows tormented by visions of rising seas and cracked fields, riots and mobs and a lost political class all out of ideas. The night dies in the hours before dawn and the air blows in fresh from the firth. Before 8 I’m out on the cobbles, chasing up a coffee and a pastry. There’s so much to be done, so much to see. Step out and shrug the fear.