Whatever that means
It was pretty clear as soon as I opened the door that the run into work was going to be hot. I sat hiding in my office at the back of the building, with the window open and the fan on, dreading the sun clearing the roofs and starting to shine in the window. I hadn’t expected that Scotrail would be in turmoil, with every train delayed or cancelled, because of the heat. And although I had no appetite for 17 miles home in the sun, it didn’t make sense to hang around waiting to see if the train would run. I’m glad I had my wee hat or the male pattern baldness would be cooked raw.