When the ‘quine’ wobbled through reception at 5.00pm, belly hanging out over her pyjama bottoms, leather bomber jacket, no shoes, trailing a toilet roll, I sensed this was going to be a little different from my normal night in a Travelodge.

The next morning, checking out, I mentioned to reception that I couldn’t hear the rowdy night in the street outside for the party going on in the corridor. “Aberdeen at the weekend sir, I can only apologise.”

We spent the day recovering in a beautiful, if unfinished, family house on a farm.

“Which way’s the countryside?” said Innes (he’s a city boy, like me) so we went for a walk to show him.

The next day was back to normal life between London and Edinburgh.