Riverside food with friends can end up being no picnic

All goes swimmingly on a family fishing trip until one of the dogs spots a snack – and dogs don’t mind whose lunch they’re eating

Fishing tackle stowed, the MacNaughties’ beds and biscuits packed, we drive north on the wettest morning. It is a devil of a day. Windows are misting up. Wipers are going 10 to the dozen. The car seems to aqua-plane through Glasgow. At Loch Lomond, once small streams burst their banks while gloomy overhead clouds threaten further pain.

At Glencoe, great rivulets fall from the mountains. It is like white icing drizzled on giant chocolate cakes.

And it is here, surrounded by bleak moorland, that the heavens really open.

The downpour is relentless and our valiant vehicle struggles to stay on the straight and narrow.

We press laboriously on. One car we pass lies on its side in a ditch. Other less mad motorists are holed up in laybys and waiting patiently for the worst to pass.

But the chief and I have places to go to and people to see. We are en route to Fort William. We are joining friends for a few days’ fishing and we are staying at a historic house.

Fassfern is where Bonnie Prince Charlie spent the night after landing in Scotland and raising his standard in the 1745 uprising.

Whilst he was there, Prince Charles Edward Stuart, or the Young Pretender – it depends on your personal view as to what you call him – picked a white rose and used it to adorn his bonnet.

Today a rose bush still grows outside the front door. Is it is the same one? Can a climber last for 250 years and more?

Maybe, maybe not, but the white cockade would become the romantic symbol of the Jacobite cause and this flower is still sported today, mainly at overseas Highland gatherings.

As it is October, the roses have gone. And the next day the rain, too, largely disappears. It dries up – which means the chief can do what he loves the most. He can climb a hill.

The MacGregor puts on his boots, but I tell him to be careful.

We are in the shadow of Ben Nevis. This is most definitely Cameron country and when tramping alien hills and glens a rival clansman must watch his back.

I, meanwhile, decide on a safer course of action. I take the doggies to the river.

It is too flooded to fish, of course. Yet there is always the chance of a walk. And if we cannot walk, we can simply drink in the view.

All goes swimmingly and one dog goes for a swim. Then our friends arrive

It is too flooded to fish, of course. Yet there is always the chance of a walk. And if we cannot walk, we can simply drink in the view

for a bankside picnic – and this is where the MacNaughties disgrace themselves.

Our host is opening a flask of coffee. He puts his food down on the bench and the Cocker Spaniel spots an opportunity.

Barra sneaks in and steals his ham and tomato roll.

In short, he eats the laird’s lunch. Oh dear. It is embarrassing when your dog lets you down. Then, the sorry fact remains that there is always someone around to rain on your parade…