Reggas

I went to the garage to get the AC seen too. Even though it was that to which it was being seen to I still found the notice on the wall about a 'regas'  strange and bewildering.

Reggas, like 'Rebbus', a detective banished to the Isle of Chris Hoy for some misdemeanor, some challenge to the authority of Policing Scotland, some hushed-up and pushed-under-the-carpet scandal.

And there some terrible crime occurs: a murder with little sense that stands outside the cardinal motivations. 

And on hand, a strange and enigmatic character, a dancer of reels and jigs, tending his land and sheep, his principality, his illicit still, all with a post-Sartrian knowingness and a rigorous post-feminist sangfroid that stands him in good stead against the gyrations of his lowland fellow-traveller.

(They re-gas the AC system.)

The heat built through the day even for our coastal location and was still warm at 8.30. Sardines and a little farmed sea bass from Greece. White wine and sage and rue smouldering on the coals as the darkness fell.