It is long after midnight in the cosy bar of a small hotel in Glasgow's West End and the night porter is pouring my final potion. I think of tomorrow's journey and ask his opinion of Aberdeen.
He slides over a single-malt Highlands whisky, folds his arms, leans over the bar, has a glance around the empty room and says: "Och, they're famous for being mean."
Much later in the morning, lightly armed with this stray fragment of popular culture, I am ensconced in a carriage trundling out of Glasgow's Queen Street station, heading for the Granite City.
Torrential rains lash the windows as our train rattles earnestly towards the north-east coastline. In this part of Scotland the terrain tends to be more Kildare than Kerry, but in the far distance, barely visible through the downpour, lies a suggestion of the kind of dramatic landscape that is more often identified with Scotland.
Outside Aberdeen station a little old lady offers crisp, staccato directions to my lodgings, the Globe Inn in the Golden Square district, whose streets and lanes with names like Diamond, Silver, or Pearl, bear testimony to the jewellery trade that once flourished there. The Globe itself is widely known in Scotland for its jazz and blues sessions at weekends and is frequented by visiting musicians and actors who play the city's premier venue, His Majesty's Theatre, just around the corner.
"Seagull massacre"
Alas, the northern lights of Old Aberdeen did not reveal a pretty sight on my arrival. In the morning's edition of the Press and Journal, two headlines caught my eye. "Probe into Aberdeen Seagull Massacre," screeched the first - referring to the fact that more than 70 seagulls had been killed by someone who had driven over them as they slept on the pier. A post mortem would be carried out, said an RSPCA spokeswoman. Police said the culprit could face separate charges relating to the killing of each individual seagull. So he could do a lot of bird, it seemed.
"Great and famous head for Big Yin's birthday bash," ran the second headline. It didn't quite specify whose head, but there were pictures of Billy Connolly's Balmoral neighbour, Prince Charles, wearing his customary expression of disconcerted bemusement, with his consort, Camilla, beaming fragrantly at his side. (Our own Sir Bob Geldof was among the guests.) I had been looking forward to a few quiet days R and R and was surprised to discover that the world and its mother had decided to come to Aberdeen the same weekend.
To avoid the likely media circus, I headed out towards the village of Stonehaven to explore one of the many historic castles for which this part of Scotland is renowned for. Dunnottar Castle's garrison withstood an eight-month siege by Cromwell's New Model Army in 1652, thereby safeguarding Scotland's crown jewels, which had been hidden there.
More recently, Dunnottar became Elsinore for Franco Zeffirelli's film of Hamlet. The castle's ancient, moody fastness is perched atop steep cliffs, which were sacked by only one man in its history, Braveheart William Wallace in the 13th century, when he defeated the English garrison.
Balmoral Castle
Alas, there is nowhere sacred: even out here, in the middle of nowhere, the ubiquitous media turned up, swarming all over the castle grounds like midges. Staff revealed that they had been "contracted" to say nothing about what was going on, but I gathered it was a US television network filming a version of "reality TV".
In the evening, back in Aberdeen, the sun was shining as I headed out on the town. The city's main drag, Union Street, had bunting laid across it to mark the 50th anniversary of Queen Elizabeth's coronation. Balmoral Castle, just south of Aberdeen, has been the royal family's Scottish residence for seven generations.
I was somewhat surprised to find that the North Sea oil industry - much of whose huge fields are serviced through Aberdeen - was not immediately evident. From the beach, 10 minutes from the city centre, no platforms can be seen. And while people employed in the industry do fill much of the available accommodation from Sunday to Thursday, at weekends they go home. This means the place can be remarkably quiet, save for the seagulls, that is.
Reciprocal interest
Up until this visit, Aberdeen had been the only Scottish city to escape my attentions since I discovered the country just two years ago - and I am far from alone in my discovery. While visitor numbers to Scotland from most other countries have fallen in the recent past due to the strength of sterling, the foot-and-mouth outbreak and September 11th, Irish interest in all things Scottish has become something of a phenomenon, with well over 100,000 visiting the country in 2001, more than twice as many as in 2000.
This interest has been reciprocated, with ever increasing numbers of Scots visiting Ireland each year.
Incidentally, with regard to the alleged meanness of Aberdonians, the former journalist and local historian Bob Smith tells a story about a man whose doctor advised him to give up the drink. As the patient was leaving the surgery, the doctor reminded him that the fee for his advice was five pounds. "Aye," replied the man, "but I'm nae takin' it."