Camperdown and I will be left to our own devices, with time to reflect

on the year that is past. Together, we will raise our glasses to those

we love, to our many friends, and to my many readers.

AT THIS time of year, Old Camperdown's attention is entirely caught up

with the prospect of the New Year Honours List and who has got what and

why. Being largely political honours, and in stark contrast to those

distributed by Her Majesty the Queen on her official birthday, there is

usually much for him to disapprove of.

That aside, the build up to Hogmanay is a busy time for all of us up

here in the Highlands of Scotland -- not least influenced by the fact

that we have been out socialising every night since Tuesday.

In some ways, this has been a blessing since it has kept my sister

Henrietta and Trevor, her friend who does something in television, fully

occupied. I'm happy to report, furthermore, that apart from Mellors,

Henrietta's wretched little dog eating a whole side of smoked trout and

disgracing himself in my embroidery basket, the entire week has passed

without incident.

Nevertheless, I did become a bit irritated with the way Trevor was

constantly commandeering Camperdown's camcorder, my Christmas present to

the old boy, in order to film Mrs Bogie preparing dinner in the

kitchens, Goodman, the butler, supervising Camperdown's bath, and

Dawkins polishing the Bentley Mulsanne Turbo.

Do you know, he must have used up as much as a whole cartridge on the

row of Georgian servant bells which are located above the oak armorial

in the back pantry. Thank goodness they took their leave of us this

morning to catch a flight to the West Indies.

Tonight, while Camperdown and I indulge ourselves at home with an

intimate champagne and oyster supper, Fiona and Fraser will be in

Edinburgh, weather permitting, bringing in the New Year amid all those

jolly laser displays, pop groups and fireworks in the city centre.

Ah, what it is to be young! Apparently they've been invited to join a

table for the Hogmanay Ball, sponsored by Glenkinchie malt whisky,

taking place in a former banking hall in George Street. This is being

organised by Peter Irvine, an enterprising, rather modern, young man who

promotes musical events and drives a Morgan, and Karen Koran, a

beautiful Scandinavian girl with a Scottish accent whom I once met when

she was working for the Norwegian Consul General.

The cabaret is being provided by Fay Presto, a lady magician whom

Henrietta informs me performs regularly at Langan's, one of her

favourite London restaurants. Trevor says she's quite amazing, pins

playing cards to the ceiling, and works with a rabbit called Harvey who

flies aeroplanes. Well, what can one say?

Happily, Camperdown and I will be left to our own devices, with time

to reflect on the year that is past. Together, we will raise our glasses

to those we love, to our many friends, and to my many readers. As the

midnight hour approaches, we will share those precious memories of those

who, over the past 12 months, have passed on from our lives, but not

from our hearts; notably the Hon Andrew and Simon Fraser, Lady Victoria

Wemyss, Alec Haldane of Gleneagles, the Earl and Countess of Selkirk,

and Lord Elphinstone, whose funeral we all attended the day before

Christmas Eve. All considered, there were some wonderful moments in

1994, not least the visit of the King and Queen of Norway, followed by

the Prince of Denmark in August.

At a splendid ceremony in Edinburgh, Lord Dalmeny married Caroline

Daglish and ended up honeymooning at Dalmeny, the family home, when she

developed toothache. I understand from his mother, the Countess of

Rosebery, that they are currently on the Cresta Run in Switzerland. Then

there was that splendidly amusing clay pigeon shoot organised by Julia

Ogilvy, who is married to Princess Alexandra's son James, following the

Scottish Game Conservancy Fair at Scone Palace. I was so thrilled to

hear of the birth of their daughter.

As we contemplate the coming of 1995, Camperdown and I find ourselves

filled with a great sense of euphoria, optimism and peace.

Unfortunately, Torquil, our son, who will be bringing in the New Year at

a ceilidh in the village hall with his friend Cormack, the son of one of

our keepers, has promised to first foot us with his bagpipes.