On the last night in portugal, Yunus has won the Darts Murder tournament and is presented with the trophy by Grandma.

And now to Scotland. Lovely autumnal weather in the north east. Not the bleak rain and misery that was forecast. Peterhead – or P.Heed as the locals say – has been a major fishing port from way back. In the late 19th cent. a prison was built here to house the worst of the dangerous prisoners in Britain. At the time there was a need to improve the harbour by building a more secure sea wall. So daily, the hard labour prisoners were taken by prison train to the quarries on Stirling hill to break granite into sea wall sized portions. Life was hard and there was flogging on the triangle for trouble makers.

As time went by conditions became softer and in the 1930s corporal punishment was abolished, but conditions in the 3 story cell blocks were still Dickensian in their brutal austerity. Although the prison security was formidable there were escapes. Difficult for the escaper, as the countryside up here can be unforgiving at the best of times. During WWII one of the prisoners was the famous Johnny Ramesky, aka Johnny Ramsay, or Gentle Johnny. He was in for safe breaking. During the war Johnny volunteered to join the army. As safe breakers were needed to open German safes, Johnny was taken to Germany and performed his duties so well that after the war he was given a pardon and became something of a folk hero. He did, however, revert to his chosen profession and continued to do time in Peterhead and elsewhere, escaping HMP Peterhead 5 times, once in 1952. One warder said ‘why don’t we just give him a key?’

In 1952 Helen’s father Alec was a policeman serving in Stuartfield about 12 miles from Peterhead. Alec, wife Evie, youngsters Helen and Margaret all lived in the house that also doubled as the police station. One cold winters night Alec was called out to help search for an escaped prisoner. Hours later a farmer found the escaper hiding in his barn. Took him to the police station, knocked on the door and left him there. With Alec out in the night and the two young girls sleeping upstairs, Evie took the bedraggled escaper into the house and gave him a bowl of porrige. When Alec arrived home much later he had mixed emotions at finding the escaper. I like to think that the escaper might have been the famous Ramesky. Helen and Margaret assure me – NO. The pic shows Helen and Margaret today in front of what was the old police station in Stuartfield.

Jackie Stuart (not the racing driver) was a prison guard serving at the Peterhead prison for 25 years in the 70s and 80s. In that period there were many violent riots. In one riot Jackie was held hostage on the roof for 4 days, his clothing soaked with lighter fluid. Pic shows some of the 1987 riot. The rescuing SAS had to explode their way in to the prison to release him.

At age about 94 Jackie is still alive, has written a book of his experiences, and enjoys spending time once again at the Peterhead Prison which has now been turned into a museum. He is very popular as a volunteer, colourfully retelling his stories. The museum also houses a restored life boat with records of marine rescues dating back to the 19th century.

OK. After a day at the prison museum followed by a memorable meal of crumbed haddock and tatties, what next? Difficult to imagine that we agreed to rise before dawn to join a mystery 5 day bus tour starting at 5.45 am in the bus terminal at Peterhead. Why and how? Don’t ask. So far so good. Lovely bus, lovely driver, Ewan, and lovely passengers. The incidence of mobility assistance and other issues leads us to feel quite spritely. Rolling down South in the early morning. Not a clue as to the destination. Ewan rattling on with a smokescreen of possibilities. The passengers are thinking Lake District? Yorkshire? Please not Birmingham or Blackpool. On the M6 Evan is teasing us by getting into the turn off lane for Blackpool. At the last second he says “maybe not” and is back on the M6. Home for the next 4 nights is a Georgian hotel north of Bolton – in the forest an hour north of Manchester. Think of a fusion between Fawlty Towers and a group of inexperienced but enthusiastic young people trying to run a hotel. Georgian means 4 poster beds but no air con. Would you believe, they are actually holding a Fawlty Towers weekend sometime soon?

The tour featured some of the interesting smaller old towns left relatively undisturbed by the Industrial Revolution in the North. The most fascinating is Downham. Quaint. No village sign, no street signs, no advertising, no TV antennae, no satellite dishes, a primary school and church but no shops. Downham with a population of about 160 is in the Ribble valley district of Lancashire. Current owner of the village is Ralph Assheton 2nd Baron Clitheroe. The notion of living a simple life without TV, in the Amish style, appeals to many people. No real estate is ever offered for sale. Would be renters are interviewed by Lord and Lady Clitheroe to establish their acceptability to the very harmonious community. Downham has been owned by the Asshetons since 1558, ownership passing uninterrupted down the male line since 1680. Eldest son has always been named Ralph. Robert Assheton, the second son of the 1st Baron, Ralph’s brother is reported as saying that Downham should be modernised and that if ownership should fall to him, he would like to see a McDonald’s restaurant in the village. Long live the Baron Ralph.

Back to Scotland for the Braemar gathering. Keen followers coming from around the globe, rolling in to the ground from early morning to bag the best places. The action begins at 10 am – simultaneous running, jumping, highland dancing, throwing things, tug-o-war all accompanied in turns by 10 drum and pipe bands. Royal party arrived at 3.00. His Majesty, Camilla and Princess Anne.

Can’t help noticing a note of austerity creeping in. No horse guards leading in the royal limos for a circuit of the oval. Distinctly remember at the 1996 games seeing a dozen mounted horse guards leading the entry of the Royals. And there was a guy in a white coat following at the side with a bucket and little spade to take care of any innocent horse droppings. There weren’t any. Please someone – confirm or absolutely deny this. Absolutely the best part of the games is always the tug-o-war. This year a dozen service teams of 8 men doing battle with their heavy steel heeled boots. My favourites this year were the Scottish Gunners. Possibly the lightweights of the contest, but they had the technique and teamwork to beat some really beefy lads. Pic not the gunners, just some losers being dragged through the mud.