Pabbay 2011

The lads resumed work at Pabbay Cottage in Spring 2011, erecting the timber frame round the outside walls. Tricky work as the stone walls were not on the plumb to say the least. The floor insulation was laid, underfloor heating pipes on top and then the screed was poured.The first floor joists went in, then chipboard flooring and we had the start of the master upstairs bedroom.

When we arrived mid July for a working holiday, the upstairs became Sean and Amy’s den accessed via ladder only (they were 13 and 14 by then). Amy hated climbing down the ladder at first but soon got used to it. It also helped that we now had electricity and wifi ! My mum came up that first week and we had one lovely day on the beach at Scarista when we were in the sea with a toy inflatable boat.

There was alot going on that fortnight. The lads were erecting partitions on the ground floor, the sparky was doing his first fix and the stonemasons had arrived. I had sent them some photos of the ruin to give them an idea of the scope of the works but apparently when they arrived, saw it for real, they almost turned around and drove off again!

One evening, once we had finished our shift we sat out the front , the sun low in the west. It was a lovely soft evening, wee breeze. We were joking, four of us,having a beer. The joiner produced a bottle of J & B whisky which I’d given him as a thank you. I was protesting that it was his bottle but no, he opened it there and then, threw the cap away and announced “we’ll no’ be needing that again”. Well he was spot on and thirty minutes later the bottle was tossed away too.

As work progressed, I did what I could to help which was basically fitting wall insulation, doing trips to the skip, bagging sand from the beach for mixing mortar and fetching hot rolls from the butty bus. The stonemasons had gone to the beach before but got their van stuck in the sand and had to be towed out by tractor.

On the Saturday night we had a lovely meal in The Anchorage and fortified with drink, took a short cut to the bed and breakfast (Taylorhill) via the weir at the Millpool. Amy was ahead of us and cried out “otters!”.By the time I caught up all I saw were bubbles.

The second week saw the boys sleeping upstairs in Pabbay Cottage and the girls in B & Bs. To be honest it was quite stressful: chasing up suppliers, visiting building control in Stornoway, getting interviewed for a grant from Business Gateway (we got £5000) and picking up parts from plumbers merchants. Every time we went to Tarbert or Stornoway, we had a huge list of things to collect, buy or order. We were shopping for light fittings and bathroom suites whilst Pabbay was a total building site. There were, I admit, moments of mild panic especially over finances.

Later in the year, I drove up with a wood burning stove. Someone had advised me never to go up with an empty car, always take something. Well I cant repeat the lads comments when they saw it but it was along the lines of “now where do you expect us to stick that?”

Throughout this the locals were brilliant, helping taking deliveries when we weren’t there, giving the lads food when they were working late. One neighbour used Pabbay as a hide and would shoot rabbits out the back.

On 11th October, we fitted the glazed double doors on the upstairs bedroom. The opening had been boarded up for a full year so it was brilliant to suddenly have daylight flooding in. We worked til 8pm then headed to the Hotel Hebrides for Spain v Scotland game (that’s why I know the precise date haha).

During the year, the project grew arms and legs. We added a walk out balcony to the plans (originally this was just railings) and added the large shed with sink unit. These proved to be wise decisions but more money!

Two final funny tales: when we got the new balcony installed, Elaine was outside admiring the view. A gust of wind blew the door shut behind her and she was stuck. She managed to call for help and someone let her back in eventually. We now have an outside handle on that door to prevent this happening to one of our guests.

We also got the downstairs toilet fitted in 2011. It was a great relief haha. Anyway, one day Sean disappeared oot the back. When he came back I said where you been, he said for a pee. I’m like “we’ve got a toilet now!” Oh yeah.

In December we took a booking, our first booking. It set it out for us all, an ultimate target. We had to be finished for Saturday 5 May 2012. I like a target, a focus, a goal. 2012 was gona be fun !

Suni Duni late’70s

I grew up in Dunblane in the 1970s: a very small person at Dunblane Primary School, I was second youngest in the class. We lived in Murdoch Terrace just across from the school field. Beyond that was hillside: no Wallace Road, no Anchorscross, no bypass ! Just coos I think. And maybe a bull … dont wear red. The field next to it (now Buchan Drive) was a corn field I think. Great for hide n seek.

The hill at the back of Murdoch Terrace was great for sledging , unless you went flying into the barbed wire fence at the bottom. That was a sair yin.

There was no Tesco or Markies in Dunblane either. The fruit van and fish van both came round once a week and my maw would go to Bennetts for mince, beef olives and scotch pies. Saturday morning I would get my pocket money, walk down the high street to buy Roy of the Rovers and get my football cards. My folks would shop in the high street too: I mind my dad had to move his Morris Oxford to let a bus through.

My dads Morris Oxford may hold an unofficial world record when it took an entire football team to Doune. We were all young lads but it’s still an impressive feat.

Sunday morning I got sent to Ramzans for the Sunday Post. I would leave my bike roond the corner and run in to buy the paper. If I left it outside the shop someone would take it and I would be chasing after them to try get it back.

My bike was a skeleton of a thing. It was nicknamed ‘The Wreck’. I would cycle as fast as I could then jump off and see how far it could go on it’s own. Nae Netflix in thae days: this was our entertainment.

Summer holidays were spent playing in the school field, the skinny woods or doon the Lechills. One summer we played constantly on the putting green at Millrow. We also went picking strawberries at Auchenteck Farm. I earned £3.50 one day ! Some of the older lads put stones at the bottom of their punnets to help at the weigh in but I was too feart. October holidays was tattie howking at Hillside Farm. That was hard work. Both farmhouses are now luxury homes. Later in the 80s I went caddying in the summer at Gleneagles, got the train up, hid in the toilet to avoid the guard.

Another farm visited was Stockbridge on the Doune road. We would play in the barn, cats everywhere. I think thats how my sister came home one day with a pet lamb, Skippy. We kept Skippy in the garden for one summer. I can mind our dog sitting at the garden gate waiting to get back in and Skippy ran up and heid butted the gate open.Sheeps are neds.

So, these are my simple childhood memories. They may differ from yours coz my memory is…ach you know…whatsitagain…pish!


Mum was a primary school teacher, a very good one I’m told. Even when she retired she never stopped teaching, telling the grandchildren stories, pointing things out to them on walks. She had an active mind, loved reading.

Later mum had Alzheimer’s disease, like her own mother. She would wander up Dunblane High Street several times a day, visit the library so often that they stopped stamping the books, they knew she’d be back later that day with the same books. She would chat to locals, especially if they had children or a dog. She loved both. She was well kent in Suni Duni (Dunblane).

Mum would forget she’d been out and head back out again soon after. As a result she lost weight and we tried to feed her up, a reverse diet, full fat milk, yoghurts and lasagne. We filled her fridge full one time and an hour later she was at our door, two bags full of food – “you’ve forgot your food, left it in my fridge”. After that we filled the fridge daily by stealth, one of us would chat to mum while the other put milk, yoghurt and a meal in the fridge and fruit in the bowl.

The doctors sent someone out to do a test. Simple questions. What year is it ? Mum thought this was daft, what’s the point. Eventually she said 2004 I think.

It was 2012.

The questions went on, who’s the prime minister etc. It was horrible sitting there. I wanted to shout leave her alone ya heartless bastard. They were just doing their job but boy was it upsetting to watch.

And so, after the diagnosis, we learned to cope. After all,mum had looked after us for years, now it was our turn . We would talk about past holidays, where mum was comfortable. If you asked her what she had for dinner last night she would get flustered so we would ask did she enjoy the lasagne last night. Little things. The kids got used to granny repeating herself, they were great with her. Mind you, one year granny gave them a birthday present…twice. They liked Alzheimer’s that year haha. Got to laugh.

Talking of which, the BBC did a piece about The Golden Postbox and who was on tv, walking up the high street? Well, I suppose it was odds on. We had a laugh about that too.

PS Does this story sound familiar? If so, you are not alone. There’s help out there for carers (yes you are a carer). We had a lovely lady who would take mum out once a week (to a coffee shop or something) and it was great knowing you could relax for that day.

Riga, Latvia

Still find it strange that I can be walking the dogs in Dunblane one morning and sitting in a Cuban cocktail bar in Riga later the same day. When my folks were my age we went to the Dordogne and it was 2 days and 2 nights travel involving trains, ferries and buses. And even when we eventually arrived we had motion sickness for the next 24 hours ffs. Noo it’s a doddle, like catching a bus. Greta will be ragin’ mind you.

Arrived in Riga at 7pm on a cold dry January night. Got the 22 bus without a ticket then jumped off before we crossed the Daugava river. Thanks for the lift, suckers. I had to walk 3km to my digs but it was a good introduction to Riga old town. Nice cobbled streets and Christmas lights and floodlit buildings.

Next day visited the huge indoor markets in 5 old zeppelin hangers. Theres butcher meats, fresh fish on ice, fruit n veg, cheeses, spices and bakeries. Its busy in a mellow sort of way. Latvians are a quiet people, understandable with their history of invasions by Nazis and Russians. Passed the ruins of a synagogue where 400 Jews were killed in 1941, locked inside whilst the Nazis set fire to it.

Got the train to Jurmala, an old Russian beach resort, 21km of beach on the Baltic. It was a glorious sunny day so I walked along a boardwalk through pine trees down to the beach, where lots of locals were walking. Passed a huge mansion with a perimeter fence, security guard at the gate watched me closely as he let his mafia boss drive out in a shiny limo. Other huge mansions have boarded up windows. Odd.

That night I go out its almost freezing but clear. Riga is two hours ahead so although I think its 8pm, its actually 10pm local time. I take many photographs of the river, canal, cathedral, trams on cobbled streets and Freedom Monument. Its nicely busy but I reckon in summer it be manic.

Today I revisited the market, just for the coffee and lovely cakes, total cost under 2 euros. The locals speak Latvian and I have learned the basics but I overhear much Russian spoken. Then I started to walk to the Daugavas Stadions, past brick built factories and car boot sales, the real Riga : grey January day.

One hour later there it is, the stadium where Scotland won in 1996. I’m well pleased and squeeze through a loosely padlocked gate. Wander onto pitch, take selfies grinning stupidly: this is the spot where John Collins scored a cracker. I recreate the goal: World Cup qualifier, crowd roaring,the silky turn, the strike, turns to the packed main stand to celebrate…. and theres a security guard … motions me off the pitch… “fuck off son ya daft Scottish bastard”. Its a fair cop.

Riga is lovely. Its compact and very flat with lots of history, bars and McDonald’s. Lots of parks too, just a bit grey in January. My Ryanair flight from Embra was £57 return btw.

5 Oct 1996

5 October 1996. That’s the date our lives changed. Why? Coz that’s the day Elaine found out she was pregnant. We’d married in May 1992 but we were a bit skint, living in a tenement in Stirling; plus we wanted to travel, visiting Menorca, Tenerife, Kos and then the west coast of America in ’95.

In late August ’96 we had gone on a camping trip to Arisaig, Eigg and Skye before spending the last 3 nights in a lovely BnB near Elgol, Strathaird House. The lady owner told us the Yellow Room was famous for conception…nudge nudge wink wink say no more aha.

So that Saturday morning, 5 October 1996, when Elaine gave me the news we were ecstatic. From then on it wasn’t just the two of us, we had a tiny third person in our lives.

However, I had a big Scottish Cup tie to play that day. Doune Castle Ams were away to Cambusbarron Rovers and major underdogs. Our manager was ex Cambusbarron and, one year after the film came out, he gave us the Braveheart team talk. Well, we went out there and won 3-2, I remember clearing a shot off the line. I got man of the match so it was a happy bunch that went to The Forresters for post match refreshments. What a day so far!

Scotland were playing a World Cup qualifier and we watched that in the pub as the celebrations began. To add to the mood,Scotland won 2-0 away to Latvia*, the start of the journey towards France ’98.

So it was a happy pub when Elaine came to pick me up. Someone offered to buy Elaine a drink and, upon hearing a diet coke, asked if she was pregnant. We both did a double take! Luckily, our man was very discreet but he was the first person to know (by default).

So that was Saturday 5 October ’96. 8 months later, on 1 June 1997, our Sean was born in Stirling Royal Infirmary (6lbs 3oz), but that’s another story. Sean is now 22 and living in London, England.

* The Latvia v Scotland fixture is the reason I can be so precise about the date.

The Pabbay Project : 2010

We have a lovely house on the Isle of Harris called Pabbay Cottage. It’s now ten years since we bought the croft which was really a sheep fank. The original house was built in 1830. Our first task was to get it decrofted, this took about 6 months. Finally someone called Hitchcock from Essex signed it off (go figure).

We could then start the work, digging out the inside and stoning up the solum, building up both gable walls in 200mm blockwork. We got a water supply in too, connected to the mains in the Rodel road late one day in February 2010. What a relief to find out the water pressure was fine. Next the huge steel ridge beams went in, supported by a centre post. I’m told it took a huge crane to put it in place. We were the talk of the village!

Summer 2010, a squad of us went up to Harris and between us we laid the drainage and poured the concrete floor slab. I remember seeing the concrete mixer coming past the Clachan and the sudden panic- we need wheelbarrows ! The guy reversed up the steep track, poured the concrete through the window and we ran around wi wheelbarrows, spreading and levelling it. Back breaking stuff and the concrete was starting to harden too but we made it. Next day, the mixer was back but the driver almost ended up in the burn! The whole thing tilted over towards the burn, much shouting, panic ensued but all was good eventually. It was a good feeling getting that work done. Some summer holiday , one day the wind was 63mph!

Late summer the lads put up the scaffolding and did the rafters, it was a work of art. Total perfection. Then the sarking boards, the heavy Spanish slate finish and rooflights and voila, we had weathertight bothy/mini church type building. I remember walking up the track in a gale, opening the makeshift plywood door and when I closed it behind me… total silence. I knew then it was going to be a warm house (the original stone walls were five foot thick, starlings nested in them).

It was a tremendous space, the huge cathedral ceiling, rafters spaced perfectly at 600 mm centres. The stonework too was beautiful , especially in the lower half where I think the cows had rubbed against the stone over the years. There was a fireplace in each gable. It was crying out history, if these walls could talk. And it was so quiet, despite the howling gale outside. I felt a sense of history there and then, the family gathered round the peat fire, sheltered from the winds that came off the mighty Atlantic.

I almost wanted to leave it at that, especially when we got the electricity supply* in. Just leave it as this huge space, a fekkin huge bothy, sunlight streaming in through the rooflights. We could sleep on the floor, sing songs and get fu’ thegither. Man, you could play badminton in that space!

But that was only Phase 1 of ‘Reversing the Clearances’. We had kicked out the sheep and and hoped to bring back the people, in our tiny way. We took an old family home with no roof and grass for a carpet and started the journey towards a new home, complete with water and electricity for the first time.

Next year we would do the internal fit out. We would soon find out, our journey had only just begun.

* the electric supply took months to sort , there was talk of a £5k bill for a new transformer gadget thing and then, bang, it was installed in a day from the pole down below. Simples.

PS Pabbay Cottage is on facebook. You can see photos there.

Doune to Dunblane: Auld railway walk

My fon died in the Moray Park, Doune. Hates the cold, fuck this I’m closing down. You can take this two ways- ‘aw naw ma fons deid how will I cope?’ or ‘I’ll get some peace noo’. I chose peace. Nae point in stressing.

Ma cars in the Doune garage and the dogs have been to the Doune vet (Kuro lost 3 kg!). Job done. Now we’re ready to walk home. Along the old railway line which opened in 1858, closed in 1965, two years before I was born. The old line is now a smooth tarmac footpath, used by cyclists, dog walkers and joggers.

Its a lovely winter’s morning as I wander past the Doune allotments. Reminds me of the Gaelic blessing “May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face”. Theres fresh snow on Ben Ledi though.

Wander on through a railway cutting, the low sun disappears. The Dark Mile (Mile Dorcha) am thinking, shiver. Back out into the sun, sheep in the field to my right, grass bright green (new growth in January?!). The motocross circuit to my left, quiet today but can be very noisy wi the bikes.

Turn round to see Kuro the black lab 100 yards behind. Come on ya fat git ! Ominously, Ben Ledi has disappeared, replaced by a black curtain. Rain incoming from the west maybe but the suns dazzling.

On under two road bridges, the woods blocking the sun now. Theres a shelter in these woods, too big to be a kids ganghut, maybe a homeless persons bed for the night poor soul? The kennels are up on the hill to my left, in the sunshine. The dogs barking puts Shitzu on edge.

At Argaty we leave the railway and walk along the road, over the Ardoch burn. Used to camp there in the summer in the ’70s by the burn. We cross the main road and walk up to join the original Old Doune Road.

Kuro is now way behind, sniffing at a gate to a field. “Mon Kuro, ya nosey bastard!” I shout. The wind catches my words, flings them away towards Dunblane. I have an image of someone walking out of Dunblane Tesco and hearing a ghostly voice in the wind .. ” ya nosey bastart!” Looks around, startled, shakes head, walks on.

Walk past a pink harled Greenyards Cottage and then the farm, three horses feeding on some hay. Kuro was born here. I took her back years later to meet her maw, thinking animal instinct would kick in but there was nothing, fuck all. They just looked at each other. Meh.Burst ma bubble.

The rain had arrived by now, liquid gold in the low sun. A huge double rainbow appeared to the north, black sky behind. Rainbow weather, minds me of Harris. Shitzu was looking droont but Kuro was in her element, walking through the puddles. Almost home noo, Shitzu, I say.

A final tale of the walk from Doune to Dunblane. An auld boy, let’s call him Jackie,had left the pub one night and was walking home to Dunblane in the face of a gale. At Argaty he stopped to light a fag but the wind was too strong. He turned round, using his body to shield the match and lit his cigarette. Triumphant, he marched on…back to Doune!

Dunblane High School :1979

I first attended Dunblane High School in August 1979 I think. It was a fairly new school, built in 1973 mebbes. My eldest brother used to go the McLaren High in Callander- catch the bus each morning (or accidently miss it, oh dear). Weird to think Dunblane with no high school eh.

I would walk from Murdoch Terrace up the steps, along the newly built Wallace Road, past the building site that is now Buchan Drive. Stopped to pee in a half built hoose haha.

It was a new school, it was a huge school. Well it was for a very small 11 year old anyway. All thae corridors, a technical block, games hall, home economics block, a library !

It was a revelation, especially the carpets. Let me explain: if you rubbed your shoes (new shoes obv) on them quickly, this enabled you to give the guy in front of you an electric shock. It could give quite a sair jolt likes, I mind o someone ripping their fingernail off.

And teachers, hunners o’ teachers. History, geography, physics, maths, PE, french, german, chemistry oooft. For weeks it was “aye I’ve got Mr whatshisface for physics, y’ken..the boring guy”.

My card was marked fae Day One. Let’s just say my elder siblings had gained a reputation so when each teacher heard my name it was ‘aw naw, no another Campbell’. Said with dark sarcasm as referred to by Pink Floyd in late 1979 (Another Brick in the Wall). That was a challenge to me : ‘I’ll show youse’. Also, what nobody knows to this day (they will now) is that my mum threatened to send me to Dollar Academy if I didn’t ‘stick in’. I was mortified. Posh kids go to Dollar ffs. So I had two motivations to do well at school.

French was great. My big brother had a foreign exchange with a french guy from La Rochelle the year before so I had picked up some words from him: mostly merde, merde and merde admittedly. So I had a head start there. Though the teacher was hard, her favourite phrase ‘I’ll have your guts for garters’.

Home economics was a shock. Cooking and baking stuff ! The highlight, the fabled lesson everyone wanted was the one where we made tablet. Yaaas!

And then there was PE. Great, we’ll get fitba’ am thinking. Eh naw ! We got rugby and hockey mainly, some basketball but nae football. Football was even banned at lunchtime. It was a shite state of affairs. Fair play the school produced some notable rugby players but I never understood why football was shunned.Still rankles (We did enter a football tournament in 3rd year maybe – got to the final too so we had a potentially good side but it was our first and last competition).

A final tale, not from ’79 but years later when the school was about to be demolished. On the gable of the games hall someone had written in huge letters “R….. is a fat bastard”. Those who were there in ’79 will understand.

St Andrews: Doon Memory Lane

Visited St Andrew’s today and it was amazing. The place was hoaching wi tourists and the winter afternoon sunlight made it just beautiful. And it brought back many memories, because like many Scots, I’ve been coming to St Andrews on days trips since forever. We walked onto the Old Course (the Home of Golf) at the 17th road hole then took photos at the 700 year old Swilken Bridge. Well, an Italian tourist took our photos. He looked frozen the puir wee soul.

In 1984 I was at The Open to watch Seve lift the claret jug. I stood in the huge crowds at the 17th green, looking down the 18th to see Seve hole that winning putt. From 400 yards away I saw the famous fist pumping celebration, a full second later the roar from the stands hit me. History right there.

Today it’s just tourists, couples mostly, walking across the fairway. We walk down the 18th, Elaine glancing over her shoulders for golfers teeing aff. Rusacks hotel on our right, stayed there with dad in 1981 mebbes it was, went round old course in 80, birdied the 18th. Did it 3 years before Seve managed it!

Walk past the 18th green, up the steps and past the Royal and Ancient clubhouse(posh gits). In 1990 when Elaine was working at the Craws Nest in Anstruther, 4 of us visited St Andrews,played putting next to the 18th. Cider had been taken and as we all ran down a steep grassy embankment to reach the putting green, Elaine fell and, we later discovered, broke her arm. But cider is a wonderful thing. The putting was a laugh until Scotty missed a tiddler, blamed his putter and skelped the ball off the wee starters hut. Well the guy was oot like a shot, raging. We ran away laughing, across the 18th green, jumped the fence and up into toon. Yes, we ran across the sacred 18th green, where Seve holed that putt, where Jack Nicklaus won in ’78.

The Americans must think its incredible how the locals can walk their dog across the Old Course. Cars can drive across the 18th fairway. I imagine in the US, their courses are very private. No dogs that’s for sure. So for Americans it must be very odd. I love it tho – we’ve no airs or graces. So you’ve paid £195 to play the Old Course? Well just wait til I scoop ma dugs shite up before you tee off, eh! Oh and watch out for steaming youths running across the 18th green.

We wander across to look along the beach where they filmed Chariots of Fire. Its hoaching with tourists and locals despite the cold wind. We took the lads here in 2012: they were u15s then. We got red polo shirts especially and I can still see them, a mile away on this beach playing beach volleyball, a tiny swarm of red ants. Dont think they went in the sea tho, the North Sea is Baltic ! Throughout my childhood all visits to St Andrews involved paddling but no swimming. No chance!

It’s getting dark as we walk back down the 18th fairway, the sky turning pink over the buildings that surround the 18th green. A final look back at the famous view and it’s in the car, get the heating on am freezing!

PS In researching this blog, I was amazed to discover that the day before Seve won the open on 22 July 1984, I was at Status Quos ‘final farewell’ gig at Milton Keynes Bowl. I got the overnight train back up to Scotland then got train and bus to St Andrews. That would kill me nowadays!


Back in the 80’s as a teenager, Ne’erday meant several things. Firstly, it meant a hangover (I’ve never touched Bicardi since…in fact, what happened to Bicardi?). Secondly it meant find a bar in Dunblane : this involved gatecrashing either the golf club or hydro. Thirdly, it meant the Old Firm fixture.

On 1 January 1987, I was asked with drive my mates Ford Sierra to Ibrox. Not sure why this happened because it was myself who had got us the tickets from Chris Woods, the Gers keeper who stayed in the Glen Road at the time. Chris had come along for a photo op when our pub team, Westlands Hotel, had got new all blue strips. That marked us out for special treatment that season , esp when we played Broons Bar haha.

Anyway, we thanked Chris with a half bottle of grouse. I’m sure, as Rangers new £600,000 signing, he appreciated that. So off to Ibrox we went in the pouring rain. Rangers had not conceded a goal in 8 games and we were confident, all the betting was 2-0, 3-0 or 4-0 Gers. Sure enough, it was a party afternoon with Rangers winning 2-0, my main memory being McCoist scoring from 6 yards out after Celtics keeper dropped a cross. Typical vulture.

I remember driving home on the motorway, tooting the horn, cars passing fags and cans of lager to each other through the windows. Lads all singing party songs, half bottle in the back. Finally, the golf club, dump the car, finally get a drink myself. My passengers were all mongoled by then.

The next year, 1988 was not so good. Lost 2-0 at the old Celtic Park. What a dump it was. Celtic fans threw bananas at Rangers new black signing, Mark Walters. The game had to be stopped to clear the pitch. The Rangers fans sang, through some perverse loyalty to their new player, “I’d rather be a darkie than a tim”. I mean ffs – “I’d rather be a darkie than a Tim!” It was perhaps the darkest day in Scottish football but the SFA did fuck all and the press gave it little coverage. Things have moved on since then thankfully.

That day we ended up at Dunblane Hydro, fuck knows how they let us in. We tried to blend in by having a peanut throwing fight and the final straw was when Scotty arrived, sporting two black eyes from an altercation on Hogmanay. The famous words “Gentlemen, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave” and we were oot on our arse.

So today, for old times sake, I reckon we should head up to Dunblane Hydro.. but maybe no peanuts haha.