Hardeep Singh Kohli: Toe much for sandals

The warm weather of late has brought to head a new conundrum: the inability of the Scotsman to wear a sandal. I have been a keen advocate of the Bikenstock for many years. In my recent flat move I was astonished that I appeared to own seven pairs of the said hippy, lentil-chewing German implements. I have white ones, brown ones and raffia styled mules.

I have travelled India twice and Peru once armed with nothing more than a bottle of water, the collected essays of Iain Crichton Smith and a pair of Birkenstocks.

I am perfectly certain and deeply comfortable about my sexuality but even I am aware that the open-toed Birky (as I affectionately call it) can look a wee bit "jessie" if not properly chosen. One would think that knowledge might serve me well in life. If only. On Thursday, as I alighted the plane in Inverness, in the rain, my sodden foot gently cosseted by the leopard skin leather of the thong-type sandal, I realised that in Scotland the summer sandal has limited uses.

A love affair with the stage that has been reignited

I've been very lucky in my life to have been able to watch a great deal of theatre. At university I performed and watched some interesting work, having studied theatre under the inspirational Professor Jan McDonald and the late great Alistair Cameron. After graduating I was employed as an usher at The Citizens' theatre in the Gorbals, watching seminal productions such as Travels With My Aunt and The Crucible and not so seminal shows like Macbeth (with mountaineers) and a 1950s Manhattan take on The Alchemist.

In my later years I reviewed London theatre for a Scottish newspaper. Having spent so much of my life loving theatre I'm afraid the constant and continual exposure to badly produced, ill-conceived drama left me exhausted and unsure as to whether I could ever truly enjoy theatre again. I took some time away from it all and allowed myself to slowly re-introduce theatre back into my life.

And I'm glad to say that having been to The Barbican in London on Monday night I wish to inform the world that I am very much back in love with theatre. The production in question was Black Watch, the brilliant and troubling opus presented by The National Theatre of Scotland. The show opened in Edinburgh to rave reviews and the London production is no different. People who wonder what the point of theatre is should get themselves to see this play. It is utterly astonishing, powerful and poignant. It is a physical, aural, oral assault on every sense. It combines song, movement, comedy, tragedy and drama.

For nearly two hours I found myself completely transfixed. After numerous ovations at the end I was unable to speak, so spent was I by the passion and the performances. There was free drink on offer but I was unable to string a sentence together. Such theatre reminds me of the power of the live performance, the elegant simplicity of a space, some words and some music. I'm very much back in love.

My summer salads come with a side order of testosterone

Summer is well and truly upon us and, like my fashion sense, my cooking abilities are much better suited to the colder autumn and winter months. I am rubbish in the sun. I struggle to find decent food to complement the blue skies and warmth. My hearty soups and pie-based main courses seem wholly out of place; nothing slow-cooked ought to be considered and red meat seems to languish in temperatures over 22¡C.

I am forced therefore to turn my attentions to salads. Having struggled with the leafy, healthy salad for many years, thinking it unsuitable for big boys like me, I believe I have finally managed to adapt it to my food needs. My breakthrough was realising that chicken, bacon or duck (my three staple flesh offerings) can be easily combined with a fruit accompaniment in and amongst the greenery. Duck and pomegranate; bacon and fig; chicken and mango. There are variations on this theme, and all should be explored, with the notably exception of raspberry and smoked chicken. (I make these mistakes so you don't have to.)

Embellish this couplet of flesh and fruit with unusual herbs, using the herb as a salad leaf rather than as a plain herb per se. For instance, two good handfuls of mint in with the bacon and fig makes for a taste explosion in the mouth. Flat leaf parsley and basil lend themselves equally well to this more ubiquitous treatment. Some shaved fennel, de-seeded and skinned cucumber or halved radishes add some crunch. All that remains is for a cheeky wee dressing. Limes, lemons and vinegars are all good and can be enhanced with passion fruit, capers or chilli. Follow these simple instructions and you too can enjoy the muscular taste experience of a big boy's salad. Unfortunately I can offer no advice on how to summon the sun.

Born winner Murray is an inspiration for us all

I'd like to take this opportunity to express my profound pride in a young man called Andrew Murray. Growing up I loved tennis. It was one of the few sports both my mum and dad played and the only sport that we would gather round the TV to watch. I grew up in the heyday of McEnroe, Borg and Navratilova. Many summer afternoons were spent at the Bishopbriggs Sports Centre trying desperately to serve and/or volley.

Never, in all those hours, days and months did I ever think a young Scot would find himself playing in the middle of the second week at Wimbledon. Every year Murray matures and improves. He looks fitter, healthier and more of a threat. And he carried within his heart the ability to win. Obviously this year he came up against the immovable object of Nadal who looks only too able to break the erstwhile monopoly
Federer has on the SW19 title.

One wonders how many kids across Scotland have been inspired by Murray and his single-minded determination. Perhaps we may become a nation of tennis-loving, tennis-playing individuals.

We are similar in size to Serbia, which is disproportionately well represented in both the men's and the women's top 10 seedings.

Andy Murray is exactly the sort of role model our nation needs. A well balanced, well brought up young man with an unbelievable work ethic. He is a born winner. And maybe one day Murray will make it beyond the quarter-finals, beyond the semis and go on to lift the trophy.

Every year that hope becomes more of a reality.