, Columnist
As Austere England Grumbles, Scotland Is All Smiles: A.A. Gill
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The TV weather map shows the U.K. wreathed in autumnal sunshine. Records have been broken. The trees are turning golden, and there are girls in bikinis in the park.
There is, though, just one small cloud right up in the northwest of Scotland, and that’s the one I’m sitting under. Outside, the sky hangs like dirty laundry caught on the granite crags. The rain looks like smoke blowing up the glen. The burns are in spate, billowing peat-tanned water in great gulping cascades.
