When we were young, Christmas meant a hot bath after school. The country bus would wind its way along bumpy roads all afternoon, delivering the wisest of men – farmer’s sons and butcher’s boys – home and out into the enveloping darkness.

You don’t need to go very far to be somewhere else.

That’s what we’ve learnt this year – the tiniest of movements can make a world of difference.

Summer is sometimes the least perceptible of seasons.

There’s no great shift like the falling of amber leaves in autumn, or waking up in the cold and dark in deepest winter.

Of all the good feelings there are in this world – sleeping in fresh, white sheets; big cuddles; drinking tea with hot, buttered toast – there are few which rival coming in from the cold.

You can still remember summer: long days, glasses of crisp white wine, picking at a supper of fresh crab and buttered bread – but, now, that would no longer satisfy.

As we ease ourselves into September, wondering where the rest of the year has gone, we brace ourselves for the unpredictable weather Scotland usually delivers at this time of year.