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I have come on holiday by mistake.

This is the gorgeous diary of my fantastic family holiday in Och-aye land.

Five hundred years driving with a madman at the wheel (Dad) and another two mad things in a basket (Angus and Libby). After two hours of trying to find the cottage and listening to Vati ramble on about the “wonderful countryside” I was ready to pull Dad’s head off, steal the car and drive, drive like the wind back home. The fact that I can’t drive stopped me, but actually I’m sure that, once behind the wheel, I could pick it up. How difficult can it be, anyway? All Dad does is swear at other cars and put his foot down on some pedal thing.

Finally arrived at some crap cottage in the middle of nowhere. The nearest shop is twelve hundred miles away (well, a fifteen-minute walk).

The only person younger than one hundred and eighty is a half-witted boy (Jock McThick) who hangs around the village on his pushbike(l).

In the end, out of sheer desperadoes, I went outside after supper and asked Jock McThick what him and his mates did at nights. (Even though I couldn’t give two short flying sporrans.)

He said, “Och.” (Honestly, he said that.) “We go awa’ doon to Alldays, you ken.” (I don’t know why he called me Ken but that is the mystery of the Scottish folk.)

It was like being in that film Braveheart. In fact, in order to inject a bit of hilariosity into an otherwise tragic situation, I said, when we first saw the cottage, “You can tak’ our lives, but you cannae tak’ our freedom!!”