Dressed to Kill (Not)

Alicia Venables

My only regret is that I wasn't dressed for the occasion.

On day four of our holiday near Appin on the West Coast of Scotland thick cloud greeted the rising sun. Awoken by my husband's successful attempt to emulate bagpipes with his snoring, I emerged from under the duvet and headed downstairs.

Five minutes later, a smile spreading across my face as the aroma of croissants and coffee filled the room; I drew back the curtains to reveal a window seat overlooking an expanse of green fields and woodland which led down to Loch Linnhe. As my eyes drifted to the horizon I spied the islands of first Shuna, then Lismore and, in the distance, Mull. Over the loch, on the Ardnamurchan Peninsula, rose the Morven Hills. Their silhouettes whispered to me of adventures and intrigue. Or perhaps I'd watched The Lord of the Rings one too many times.

'Look at that view,' I said, shaking my head.

'Views, views, views. That's all you ever talk about,' muttered my five year old daughter, glaring at me for a second from the sofa before returning her gaze to the television to watch Balamory.

I nodded. She was right. Sometimes I think I live for views. Even as I glanced at the TV a picture formed in my head of the CalMac ferry gliding into Tobermory (the setting for Balamory) with its rainbow of houses around the harbour.

After breakfast and a family parley about what to do, we exited 'The Coach House' to head for Fort William and the Tourist Information, which we hoped would give us details of where we could hire kayaks. As I clicked the remote to open the Laguna, a setter bounded up to us. My two daughters shrieked happily whilst Linnhe, our hosts' red and white dog, skipped around them.

'Isn't he sweet?' said my eight year old daughter, tickling him under the chin.

'Yes dear,' I answered. I tried to hide my fear behind a relaxed smile as I slid into the passenger seat.

Half an hour later, we arrived in Fort William, or, as we call it, Wart William. We had visited enough to know that it did not live up to its surroundings. Behind the town, Ben Nevis towered above its drab buildings and in front of it stretched the dark waters of Loch Linnhe. I understood that it hadn't been built for tourists and had long ago shrugged off my disappointment and accepted that though it lacked the charm of, say, a Swiss alpine resort, it housed all the necessary amenities -supermarket, swimming pool, cinema etc. And at least I didn't feel the need to worry about my appalling attire. I possess a functional rather than trendy wardrobe. I like my clothes practical and warm - in Scotland at least! And my favourite footwear is not a pair of Jimmy Choos but walking boots which I just happened to have on that day below my combat trousers and waterproof.

As we walked into the main shopping precinct I noticed metal barriers lining the road.

'Excuse me,' I said to a passer-by who I presumed to be a local, 'do you know what's happening?'

She took a deep breath. 'The Queen's coming. Supposed to be here in about fifteen minutes.'

'Really,' I said, covering my gaping mouth with my hand. 'Thank you so much.'

The lady walked on her way and I turned wide-eyed to the rest of my family.

'Did you hear that? The Queen's coming! The Queen's coming!'

We looked around us at the empty streets, surprised that people weren't already jostling for position. I had only seen the Queen on TV and there always seemed to be hoards of people wherever she went. Quarter of an hour later we were squashed against the barrier now three people deep. In the park in front of us a table had been set up and a large number of dignitaries milled around the edges. In the distance we heard the sound of drums and bagpipes and looked up the High Street to see a military band in full regalia - soft, furry, black hats that I longed to reach out and run my fingers through, tartan kilts, sporrans...the lot. We had moved to Glasgow from England three years previously and I had never seen the attraction of a man wearing a kilt. But now, all of a sudden, I had a diet-coke break moment just watching the band march by and wished that I had worn something smarter. Of course, I didn't mention any of this to my family and waited with the proper decorum for the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh to follow in their wake.

She was dressed in a canary yellow suit with the obligatory hat to match. His attire appeared rather non-descript. As the couple followed the procession into the park, a flash of red hair caught my eye and I recognised Charles Kennedy - the leader of the Lib Dems and MP for the area. I think of myself as a sucker for celebrity but to my surprise, I felt no great rush of adrenalin. It was all like something on TV - although I could literally have stretched out and rubbed the smooth fabric of the Queen's sleeve if I had wanted to. Good job I wasn't an assassin, I thought.

'Maybe we've been too hard on the place,' I said as we got in the car later, having discovered that The Isles of Glencoe Hotel, twelve miles down the road, had a leisure centre where we could hire kayaks on Loch Leven.

'What do you mean?' asked my husband, starting the engine.

'Well, if the Queen's going to frequent the place, maybe we should dress up to come here and call it 'Court William.'

My husband threw me a deadpan look, rolled his eyes at the quality of my joke and sped off.