One can't be everywhere, but one can always try

Balcormo Mains, near Leven, I am having Dawkins, our chauffeur, drive me

over to Bellahouston Park in Glasgow for the Scottish Kennel Club

Championship Show.

The old boy just loves any opportunity to get together with his East

Neuk cronies, and since I've made a point of inserting a mobile phone in

his Barbour jacket pocket, it should be simple enough for me to ring

from the Bentley Mulsanne Turbo and arrange where to collect him on our

way home.

In the meantime, the prospect of spending this afternoon with all

those adorable working, utility, and toy dogs is too thrilling; such a

pity I won't be able to stay over for tomorrow's gundog, terrier and

hound judging, but, as I keep telling myself, one simply can't be

everywhere.

Nevertheless, one can but try, and that is why on Wednesday I'm very

much hoping to be able to drop in on the Marie Curie Cancer Care Women

of the Year luncheon taking place at the Belleisle Hotel at Ayr.

Rosemary Findlay has agreed to be the charity's local chairman, and

speakers are the Rev. Effie Campbell, Carol Mitchell, the horse breeder

and interior decorator, and Ann Wilkson MBE.

After that I will be travelling cross-country for the little soiree

being held in Dumfriesshire by the local branch of the National

Association of Decorative and Fine Arts Societies. This is happening at

Threave, the National Trust for Scotland property at Castle Douglas, and

is being organised by Bridget Fleming Smith who lives at Parkgate.

All being well, however, I shall be leaving Camperdown in Edinburgh

for the musical gala concert featuring the band of Her Majesty's Royal

Marines, Flag Officer Scotland and Northern Ireland, which is taking

place at the Usher Hall for one night only.

Robin Salvesen from Eaglescairnie in East Lothian is chairman of the

Scottish council of the King George's Fund for Sailors, benefiting

charity, and from what I remember both he and Camperdown are rather keen

on big-band sounds. Peter Morrison, that handsome singing lawyer from

Glasgow, is the soloist, accompanied by Peggy O'Keefe, and my only

concern is that the old boy will inevitably insist on crooning his

favourites from the programme on the way home in the car.

I shall have to remember to take my ear plugs with me so that I can

get some sleep, especially as the following morning we are on parade for

the environmental seminar being held at Battleby, Perth. This is

sponsored by Brodies WS and the Field magazine and the topic is The

Scottish Highlands: The Last Wilderness, a subject cherished by

Camperdown with biblical fervour.

The discussion is being chaired by the Hon. Sir Charles Morrison, a

son of the 1st Lord Margadale from Islay, who is chairman of the Game

Conservancy Trust. Mark Tennant, Sir Ian's swarthy son, a budding

European politician, is presenting a resume on the role of the Scottish

Highlands in Europe; Captain Ben Coutts is giving a discourse on hill

farming, and Simon Fraser, director of the Scottish Landowners'

Federation, will be considering the prospects for land ownership in the

21st century.

The principal reason for my wanting to go along, I should say, is to

hear Paul Van Vlissingen, the fascinating Dutchman who owns the

Letterewe estate on Loch Maree. Letterewe has such long-ago romantic

memories for me having been stalking with my father on Beinn Lair in

that remote and spectacular landscape in the days when it was owned by

Colonel Bill Whitbread. The house, being across the loch, is

inaccessible other than by helicopter or boat, and if one arrived at

night one had to light the little oil lamp to summon the boatman. As

often as not the weather would be so bad we'd be obliged to spend the

night at the Loch Maree Hotel once patronised by Queen Victoria.

On Thursday, Paul is scheduled to speak about access and conservation;

Camperdown has been having all sorts of problems with hillwalkers, not

to mention new age travellers, on our west coast land, and is therefore

hoping for some useful tips on what to do about them.

Henrietta, my sister, has been in the South of France for the Cannes

Film Festival this week. She took off for Monaco last weekend,

supposedly for the grand prix, which rather surprised us as we've never

known her show the slightest interest in motor racing before. Between

you and me, Camperdown and I are utterly convinced her intention was to

track down the evasive young Marquess of Bute who, as Johnny Dumfries,

was a Le Mans champion in 1988.

We're pretty certain she must have got wind of his inheriting that

#144m from his late father, and where Henrietta is concerned that sort

of thing is tantamount to exposing a side of smoked salmon to an

Abyssinian white. Fortunately for him, the grapevine has it that since

his divorce from Carolyn Dumfries he's become happily involved

elsewhere.