Now that’s not easy with the sun streaming into their windows (we still haven’t got curtains) at 6am I can’t stay in bed when the sun’s shining. I wander about the gardens in gumboots and the pink satin and lace dressing gown someone’s Spanish au pair girl left behind one summer, resiting the washing line, putting away bicycles, pushing wheelbarrows full of coal from the pile at the gate to the bin in the back porch. We haven’t lit the fire for 10 days, it’s been so hot up here, but I do like to be organised.Tidying up the wellingtons and oilskins in the porch I come across a strappy gold sandal with diamond-studded stiletto heels, another souvenir from Paloma the Spanish au pair She was a strange girl. She came with the guests from hell, a family we hardly knew who arrived for one night on their way to Skye and stayed for 10 days.

As there were already 11 of us, it was like running a small hotel. Paloma, whose English was limited to the single sentence – “How much he cost?” – spent all day upstairs in her pink satin robe flicking through magazines, emerging occasionally to pour herself a glass of wine. And then one night after supper, one of the boys suggested going out in the boat. It was a full moon and the loch looked like a silver sheet.”Yo tambien,” announced Paloma, hitching up her pink satin skirts and running after them The boys came back after midnight, looking sheepish “Where’s Paloma?” I asked “Swimming,” they said “With nothing on, mum,” whispered the youngest “She just took off that pink thing and jumped in. She wants us to bring her a towel.”Stella and Maureen (the one with the barking mad mother) don’t swim or sail or cycle or walk or even flick through magazines. They sit outside in canvas chairs staring out at the five small islands in the middle of Loch Linnhe doing absolutely nothing.

When they hear me in the kitchen washing up or making supper for the children they call to me to stop slaving away, for heaven’s sake. “Life’s too short to stuff a mushroom,” says Maureen.”I’m not stuffing mushrooms I’m peeling potatoes for supper,” I say “Haven’t you any oven-ready chips?” suggests Maureen. “Bring those broad beans out here and I’ll pod them for you,” says Stella. But after shelling only two beans, her hands fall listlessly into her lap and her eyes move inexorably to the far horizon Even the devil seems to have given up on them.. It’s been a few weeks since we had an episode of Shakespeare’s long-running saga, “The History of King Tony” (or “New Labour’s Lost, Love”) but before King Tony takes himself and his court off to Italy for the summer, there’s just time for a look at the latest doings of the royal entourage… It’s been a few weeks since we had an episode of Shakespeare’s long-running saga, “The History of King Tony” (or “New Labour’s Lost, Love”) but before King Tony takes himself and his court off to Italy for the summer, there’s just time for a look at the latest doings of the royal entourage…
 The scene is the Royal Palace at Westminster, where King Tony and Queen Cherie are packing for their holidays.Tony: Just think of it, my dear. In two weeks’ timeThe cares of state will all be left behind.We shall fly south to join the sun and thenIts healing rays will burn away our woes…Ah yes, the sunny climes of far-off Tuscany,And no less sun-kissed slopes of old Provence,So well described in Peter Mayle’s bestseller,The which I took on holiday last year.Cherie: But did not read.

We’ll take it once again.Tony: ‘Tis odd that no one yet has penned a bookAbout a year in Tuscany. ‘Twould go down well.Perhaps myself I should take up the penAnd write a book about our Tuscan times!Cherie: Knowing your luck, it would be leaked too wellAnd read by all before it saw the shops.Tony: Cheer up, my Queen, cheer up! You’re sad today,Be not so green and sour, but tell me whyThou art in such a melancholy state.Cherie: Perhaps it is because thou art so blithe,Anticipating such a pleasant time,And I do have to grapple with the packing.Thou has but little notion of the workInvolved in visiting these OPPs.Tony: These OPPs? What can you mean by that?Cherie: It is my name for Other People’s Palaces.The holiday homes you fix up when abroad,And you go drinking with your royal mates.Back home you come and say, “Good news, my dear!I met this Belgian with a home in TuscanyWho says we can stay there come August time!”Besides, I fear thee when in such a playful mood.It was at such a time a year ago,When thou wert full of all the joys of springThat I conceived and later bore Prince Leo.There must not be another royal baby!So, I do fear thee when thou’rt full of fun.Tony: Have no fear. I’ll treat thee like a nun.The scene changes to a street in London. Huge crowds have gathered to greet the procession of Dame Betty Boothroyd, as she drives past on her 100th birthday celebrations.Betty: Thank you, my friends. I thank you one and all.To Driver: Once around Whitehall, then turn left down the Mall.She vanishes, as King Tony enters carrying Prince Leo.Tony: They love Dame Betty, though I never knew why.For all she ever did was say: “Aye, aye!Now come to order! Let’s have a bit of hush!”In the rank of achievements, it isn’t much…Enter a gang of photographers, on the way back from Dame Betty’s drive past.First Photo: It’s him! It’s Tony himself! Let’s get a snap!Come on Tony, put Leo on your lap!Second Photo: Or if you want to make us really very happy,Take his outfit off and change his nappy!Outraged by this familiarity, King Tony has all these photographers clapped in the Tower. The scene reverts to the Royal Palace, where Queen Cherie is still packing.Cherie: Pants, socks, and shorts, and swimming towels as well…Oh God, these holidays are merry hell!Enter King Tony.Tony: And don’t forget the camera! This is the yearWhen I shall take the holiday snaps myself.Cherie: I’ve put it in. I think that’s just about it.Can there be anything else that we’ve forgot?Nappies for Leo…