The haar came creeping over the hills coastwards of our house as if the weather had been reading some James Herbert recently and was inspired. Dull and grey in the morning until the sun beat it back, then it came slipping back over the afternoon.
The haar doesn't usually make it over the hills. It's quite creepy to see it spreading down like a thick blanket of syrup made from fog.
When I lived north of Aberdeen, summer weekend rides frequently ended with racing to stay ahead of the haar on the way home.
Sam