The evening went very well, so I was told. I was rushing around trying to ensure that all went smoothly, and although the ice swan did crack under the weight of ice cream it was quickly welded together using liquid Nitrogen so it lasted until everyone was served.

After dinner Hamish appeared, looking rather better, and he sat and chatted away as people came and went but Mister Charles, the gentleman's gentleman, came to see him to his apartment to rest after an hour or so.

The Royals had provided an orchestra and musicians, and there was dancing in several rooms, including - so I was told, one for men only so they could still dance in their kilts even if they had neglected to bring underwear.

With such crowds things got rather warm, and most of the Saltires changed out of the heavy maroon kilts they had been wearing at the reception.

Around midnight everything outside had been secured, all the food tidied away, everything not still needed washed up, everyone who required accomodation had a room allocated, so I went to find some refreshment, and found a bottle of moscato d'asti unopened. That was soon remedied and it went well with a peach. I was sitting looking out at the stars when a group of men came in and began to dance the Highland Fling to the music of a violin.
Probably moved by the gently fizzy wine I rose and joined in.
I was wearing my ancient Armstrong, pleated to the red stripe, with a light blue tunic which had a lot of lace, edged with a thread of red, with a dark blue velvet jacket and dark blue hose, and soft black leather shoes with resilient foam soles. Before I knew it, one dance let to another, and it was a quarter to two, and the marine band master came to reclaim his bandsmen so the party was over. It was two thirty before the place was secure - but there seemed to be security men coming out of the woodwork now, so I left the house and went home.