Can I say something terrible? I'd rather be shown around Scotland by an old Tory than by Elaine C Smith.

I know she's something of a national treasure these days. At least, she's a treasure if you were a Yes voter in the referendum. To No voters, I assume she's simply 'Mary Doll' or someone who appears in panto.

I voted Yes but couldn't warm to her in the referendum campaign. I found my toes fixed in an unpatriotic curl at her haranguing and bellowing, and cringed at those who were grateful that such a big famous person was rubbing shoulders with little ole them on drizzly Buchanan Street.

Our national treasure has carried this bombastic tone into her new series, Elaine C Smith's Burdz Eye View (STV). On her first stand-up tour in over ten years, she's off around the seaside towns of Scotland with a camera crew, performing in local venues and chattering with the locals.

And this is why I'd rather have a Tory. Michael Portillo goes tootling off round Britain, stopping off at quaint or cute places, speaking to people and eking out charming little fragments of local history. His manner - especially when he's touring Scotland - is one of polite bemusement. He stands back and lets the local eccentrics speak.

There's no chance of that with Elaine C Smith in town. In this opening episode she goes barrelling into genteel North Berwick, being loud and abrasive, scattering 'dahlings!' at everyone she meets.

And whilst she can't match Portillo's charming, laidback tone, neither does she match his curiosity. Instead of revealing some hidden aspects or strange tales of this beautiful town, she just lazily presents us with chips, cones, a choir and a round of golf. Was any research done for this programme or did the producers just skim-read North Berwick's Wikipedia entry?

But perhaps I was expecting too much from this programme. She's not Portillo or Palin. She's not an intrepid explorer. So I had no right to feel bored when she went to get her hair done and made us go with her to watch.

And the programme announced its bland intentions in the opening credits by showing us holiday postcards in the old vintage style. This isn't going to be a tour of modern, edgy, arty Scotland. It's going to be about chips and ice cream by the sea, and remembering the good old days.

At one point it was literally about 'the good old days' as Smith went into a care home to meet residents, one of whom was born ten days after the 1918 Armistice, and they discussed childhood memories of North Berwick in which ice cream featured heavily. One local woman helped the old folk to create 'life story books' where she uses their old family photos to make a pictorial record of their lives.

Such nostalgia is pleasant but only in small doses. When you dawdle over it, it descends into the melancholy or, in this case, the twee. This was a tourist image of Scotland which is about going 'doon the watter', paddling in the nippy sea, and having a good old sing-song and a plate of chips. But that image is only shoved at us, the Scottish people. Scotland markets itself to foreigners as a place of windswept beauty and echoing castles or, in the case of Glasgow, streets of stylish, exclusive shops. But we don't get that. Thinking big is not for the likes of us. Keep the fancy golf courses and posh shops and Highland spa resorts for the tourists. The Scottish people will be happy with some chips and getting their hair done. That's what this series promotes: here's your wee bit of Scotland, just like yer mammy knew it. Be content with it.

And for those willing to overlook the travel element of the programme in the hope of some comedy, you'll be disappointed. Her comedy gig starts six minutes form the end of the programme, and opens with the scintillating line, 'I'm in North Berwick! Aaaaaargh!' And she then talks about hair, make-up and weight loss, explaining she has to do this as it's a largely female audience.

Was that a joke? If so, it was the only one. Give me Portillo any day.