It’s always the same. As you prepare to move off – passports and
boarding passes in hand, suitcases zipped up - you turn round and survey the
results of all the recent hard work: garden trim, house spick and span – and
you think it may be nice to stay home and enjoy it in this state! But no – off we go, snacks in cellophane. Why is in-flight food such an assault on the
olfactory system? The smells emanating from the on-board microwaves certainly
do not entice.
Britannia wears
a light cloud cover, but the temperatures are comfortable, the cooler, damper
atmosphere feels refreshing to us, having faced constant dry heat for so long.
We drive up north and, as always, I feel a wee heart flutter as we cross the
border into Scotland.
We’re using a GPS and our lady adviser is a stalwart,
leading us seamlessly to our destination. So, okay – there is a camera on
board, charting your route but here is the riddle: in the case of unpredictable
eventualities, how can she respond so efficiently? Is there a recording for
every possible alternative route all nicely pre-recorded? How can that be? Or is there a gigantic GPS control tower with
millions of nicely-spoken, unflappable females, watching each driver’s every
manoeuvre, responding like slightly tetchy kindergarten teachers whenever an
off-course move is made? I am genuinely puzzled by the workings of it.
We are staying at
furnished accommodation in Leith;
off-season we’re paying 89 pounds per night for a 2-bedroom (one en-suite)
flat, bathroom and kitchen-cum-lounge cooking equipment, cutlery, crockery,
linen, all in - exceptional value for money! We manage to get spectacular views
thrown in as well. Prices can quadruple in festival time.
One highlight there
was our visit to the Royal Yacht
Britannia. In 1976 I was lucky enough to see her in Montreal as the Queen
arrived for the Olympic Games there. I still remember my sense of pride and
being in awe as I watched this gleaming, elegant vessel sail into port. Now I
was going to see her from the inside. The two extremes impressed me: the
grandeur of the dining room where heads of state had attended official
functions and the slightly shabby, unassuming simplicity of the royal private
quarters.
In the summers in Knapdale we would watch this
proud vessel cruise up the west coast, carrying the Queen on holiday to
Balmoral. On their way, they passed Duart
Castle on the Isle of Mull, home to the then Lord and Lady Maclean of Duart. The Chief of the Clan Maclean, and the
Queen’s Lord Chamberlain, would wave welcomes and set off fireworks to honour the
royal presence in these waters, and the Britannia and Frigate, going slowly past, would reciprocate!
(Many
thanks to Susan Campbell, of Duart, Mull for offering her first-hand account of this
lovely local tradition.)
It was interesting to
see so many photographs of such cruises, the Queen looking relaxed and happy.
Apparently on such trips protocol was suspended and the crew-members were
addressed on first-name terms, in keeping with the holiday tenor. How petty and
tragic that funds were not released to refurbish this great, floating
ambassador and that she was decommissioned in 1997.
The other highlight was meeting up with
friends, Margaret and Bill, from Aberdeen University days. In keeping with our maritime
theme, we reminisced how Margaret and I had celebrated graduating by chartering
a yacht with my brother and a friend and sailing round the isles of the Inner
Hebrides. Now this yacht had a Ford Poplar stand-by engine which they claimed
could blow up after 20 minutes’ use – so
not at all in the Britannia league! There’s a great story of my poor friend
feeling quite sea-sick, a feeling which did not abate when she saw, at
relatively close quarters, what is the third-largest whirlpool in the world, Corryvrechan. She remembers Ali grabbing her by the hair and
roughly turning her leeward to avoid undesired er …….blow-back!
And just
as the Proclaimers sang, we did have
some beautiful Sunshine in Leith, but an east wind that would freeze your nose
off! Here we are enjoying a fine meal at the Lochfyne Restaurant – an appropriate venue as Tarbert, Lochfyne was literally our next port of call.
