In other less Crimewatch-worthy news,

Ash and I had a splendid little meal at the Tapas Tree the other night. As befits the current ascendancy of chorizo over bacon (sorry Josh) in my home cooking, we ordered a shitload of the stuff and I wolfed it down with abandon. It truly is the processed meat product of the gods. We sat outside in the waning sun, finished our meal and made our slightly wobbly way home. Hurray for al fresco dining coupled with mildly excessive boozing! I'd say "long may it continue", but the weather looks like it has firm ideas in the other direction. One scorching month book-ended by oppressing humidity and random showers does not a summer make.

On Sunday evening we drove over to my parent's place in Fife for a meal. It was all terribly cosy and familial (in a good way!) and after a placatory visit to my gran we ended heading home up on a slightly less main road than I'd intended. A flickering orange glow in the sky grew brighter and brighter as we headed towards Dunfermline and suddenly, as we crested a hill, we saw it was the flare from the Mossmorran ethylene plant. It was a fantastically dystopian sight: the sky was bright enough and coloured just so as to suggest a distinctly non-shepherd-friendly dawn.

Something made me feel conspiratorially glad to have seen it and it was sufficiently otherworldly and unreal to blow away the cobwebs of more earthly concerns. Like, you know, seeing one's stolen bike paraded up and down Leith Walk.

Well, almost.