Nobody has told us that there is a Turriff Marijuana Festival, this is merely a secondary deduction from available evidence. A midday foray into Safeways for the papers, ordinary tobacco for Dr Biswell to smoke, cheese, onions, etc. found the car-park full of beaten-up caravans, and Safeways itself full of strange, brightly coloured and picturesque travellers — the last tie-dye headscarves in captivity, bare feet and ankle-bracelets, a strong overall flavour of dirt and Caribbean incense. More of such were to be seen wandering here and there, looking at the prim stone houses with an air of vague anthropological curiosity. Clearly there is some reason why these birds of passage have alighted here, and I hope they’re having fun. Not enough fun is had in Turriff, I sometimes think, except by us.