Lunch by the loch

Today was boiling. I mean mid-summer boiling. I burnt the back of my neck at lunch time whilst sitting on a bench having this conversation:

Whiskery old lady: och it's a lovely day
Me: it certainly is.
Whiskery old lady: It's going to snow tomorrow
Me: Is it?
Whiskery old lady: So they say. Mind you, I can forecast better than those men off the telly. I just open my curtain and look outside. I could tell you the weather. It'll snow tomorrow.
Me: Oh dear.
Whiskery old lady: I don't mind though. I've some sewing jobs to get on with.