I AM hoping that, by the time you read this, we will be basking in glorious sunshine.

Otherwise, I am sorry to tell you, that my calculations have gone terribly wrong (by calculations, I mean refreshing the weather app every five minutes to check the forecast hasn’t changed).

There are rumours swirling that a heatwave could be upon us this weekend. The first tantalising glimmer of summer. Yet, as every Scot knows, balmy weather inevitably leads to barmy behaviour.

Last year, when supermarket shelves were stripped bare as lockdown loomed, it all felt oddly familiar because – aside from the stockpiling of loo roll – the overall vibe wasn’t too far removed from how many shops across Scotland look whenever temperatures start nudging the mid-teens.

Right about now there will be barely a salad leaf to be had anywhere. Burgers, sausages, skewered kebabs – basically anything that can be cooked over an open flame in back gardens – will be disappearing like snow off the proverbial dyke.

The booze section will be taking a hit too. Good luck getting your hands on Prosecco, rose wine, gin-in-tins, craft beers or pre-mixed cocktails. Those less quick on their heels might need to dust off that Babycham – vintage 1982 – from the back of cupboard.

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While I can understand the barbecue fever and the clamour for a nice tipple to savour as the sun’s rays beat down, it never ceases to amaze me how, at the first hint of warm weather, Scots begin to crave salads.

There is an anthropological study begging to be done about how the shackles of stodgy fare are thrown off as folk, en masse, go in search of frisee lettuce and posh balsamic vinegar.

The haste and evanescent nature of this odyssey always puts me in mind of the fleeting lifecycle of mayflies.

Salads these days, though, are a complicated business. A far cry from having tea at my gran’s house on Saturday afternoons where a salad comprised a slice of cold meat, a boiled egg, some lettuce, grated cheese and, possibly, if you were very lucky, four or five chips.

She wasn’t a fan of tomatoes, so those were usually plonked unceremoniously onto the plate uncut. I recall in the late 1980s and early 1990s my mum and aunt lobbying to introduce exotic additions such as coleslaw and potato salad.

Talk about changed times. Now, even the basics can be a minefield. I recently saw a chap wandering about the M&S food hall trying to pick out lettuce. In the end, he slunk off home with three different kinds – I would hazard a guess that none of them were the right thing. I feel his pain.

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Modern-era salads necessitate a groaning smorgasbord of extras, be it oils and dressings, hummus and couscous, olives, beetroot, pastas, beans and other legumes, whole grains, dried fruit, nuts and seeds.

As for this column? It has all been a cunning ruse. While you were distracted, I have galloped to Aldi where I am emulating a contestant on Supermarket Sweep.

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