So there I was, Ross-shire Man about town, striding through Inverness with a cheerful disposition and a purple bobble hat to keep the chill off. I severed the bobble from the main body of the hat some years ago, actually, in a vain attempt to keep in step with contemporary fashion and to appear more ‘beanie’ than ‘bobbly, although on reflection perhaps I should have invested in a massive exhaust for the Citroen Berlingo at the same time.

I had an assignation: the top notch swanky Ramada Jarvis Hotel, six o’clock, the Congress Suite, to meet a man called Stan to test out a prototype website for the Scottish Government (essentially how to submit a planning application on-line) before it was unleashed upon the general public. What a good idea, don’t you think, try it out on a few folks first to see what modifications were required? Fantastic.

I presented myself at Reception: “Congress Suite, website, a man called Stan”, I explained and was met by some rather dubious looks before being motioned to a comfy chair and served coffee while I waited for Stan to appear. I was a bit early actually, only I do like to get the lie of the land and check out the facilities, so I drank my coffee and pondered uneasily on whether it might be a complementary one or not? I had no money on me, you see, so for the time being I put it to the back of my mind and reflected instead on how easy it might be to rig up a massive exhaust to a dented Berlingo.

Then Stan appeared, a dapper man in a pinstripe suit. I followed him upstairs to a laptop computer in the Congress Suite, signed a Health and Safety Form (Good Grief!), perused a Risk Assesment document (Good Lord!) and put my signature to a letter preventing me from communicating technological secrets to rival web companies (who ever they might be?). This last one was quite exciting as it hinted at the possibility of industrial espionage involving a James Bond character (me) in swanky Highland Hotels.

“Now, Patrick,” said Stan with great aplomb as I responded to a computer question about planning permission for a conservatory on a listed building by a fictitious Mr Dooley from Beauly, “we can’t be doing this sort of research without you: you are a guinea-pig and a donkey.” So there you are, I was suitably humbled.

Some time later, guinea-pig and donkey activities complete, the webcam mounted above the monitor that ensured my every grunt and grimace could be scrutinized by other ‘Stans’ in Edinburgh at some future date (to evidence the fact that I wasn’t a ‘mole’ trying to destabilise the world of council planning departments) was switched off, I bade him a fond farewell and slunk furtively through the main foyer trying hard to look like someone who always pays for their coffee. 

It was dreak outside and a group of young ‘hoodies’ sheltered in the doorway. “Time for a song, folks?” I quipped as I slipped through their midst to which they cheerfully responded with that well-known Shakespearian tune: “hey nonny-nonny, nonny-nonney.” Marvellous. I waved casually then headed off into the night before realising a moment or two later that these musical youths were in fact ‘Goths’ (The Adam’s Family, The Munsters, bolt through the neck, that sort of thing) sheltering from the rain and not sinister ‘hoodies’ at all.

Anyway, it had been a good night out and apart from a touch of coffee angst I would gladly re-adopt the characteristics of a guinea-pig or a donkey again.  And why not?

Copyright Patrick Vickery 2008

(Published in the Ross-shire Journal June 13th 2008)

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