Midsummer Murder

The balmy walk home on the evening of midsummer's day. It's enough to make you feel quite put upon; enough to make you throw the towel in. Right in. In fact, all your towels and sheets and nappies and whatever else. And toys out the pram. Woolly bunnets too. And it still wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference. I'm sure it's not good for your mental health. Or any other sort of health either.
What's the point of bloody working all day, if your reward is trudging through rain soaked streets. VisitScotland. Gagh, don't get me started. I don't care for that Donald Trump and his bloody golf course either. Or that parliament building. I quite like trams, mind.