EASEDOWN week four. There’s a bit of a hoolie planned. Some dancing round the handbags. A few Babychams. Jackson on the decks and What’s-his-name Leonard on cloakroom duty. Kate’s in charge of the kitty, Michael’s got the taxis booked and Jeane has a stash of paracetamol for the morning after.

Or maybe not. Whatever your celebration of choice is, happy birthday, Nicola. Well timed for the Fair Weekend. Perhaps a trip doon the watter to Rossie, socially distanced of course. Or a day-out to Largs for a Nicolabockerglory at Nardini’s. Whatever you’re doing for your 50th, enjoy the break from the daily briefing podium.

These strange times have certainly brought into sharp focus the holiday options we have on our Scottish doorstep. For the Fair Fortnight, it used to be normal for there to be queues on to the streets at Buchanan Bus Station as families headed off to Scottish holiday hot spots (I use the term “hot” loosely). The Quarter Master grew up in a small village in Argyll, and remembers an extra MacBraynes bus being put on to cope with the tourist crowds and the rush at the tearooms as the paddle steamer came into the loch.

Perhaps we have lost sight of the holiday fun we can have on a “staycation”. We have maybe become too used to the sun, sea and sangria/ouzo/pastis (insert name of favourite local libation here).

The QM has been toying with the idea of hiring a campervan for our summer hols. We’ll see all the bits of Scotland we’ve always wanted to see but haven’t quite got round to, he says. The roads will be quiet without the influx of overseas visitors, apparently. There will be no midgies and the sun will split the sky for the entire fortnight. The men’s Scotland team will make it to the next World Cup. After landing on the moon. Etcetera.

The QM benefits from a stiff upper lip and an absence of prior experience on the campervan front.

Don’t get me wrong … our family had some lovely holidays courtesy of Bella The Van. That’s probably because you only really remember the good bits.

As a child, I recall heading on rather ambitious expeditions without a care in the world. Apart from my dad’s rather flamboyant driving (I’m being generous here) and having two older brothers to fight with in the close confines of The Back Of The Van.

It was seventies central, so seatbelts had barely been heard of. My parents played fast and loose with the Silk Cuts, so we were pretty much kippered before we left Greater Glasgow. As a result, the one tiny wee pop-out window in The Back Of The Van was highly prized. And another reason to argue over who sat where.

READ MORE: Shedloads of therapy required as QM goes radio gaga

By some quirk of design involving inefficient Velcro, the cushions on the seats in The Back Of The Van were a moveable feast. As we lurched round corners at inadvisable speeds, we would be sent flying. It was a bit like a go on the dodgems and the waltzer merged into one.

The only hope was that when you finally landed, you would find yourself next to the window.

Happy days. I think.

I don’t want to put a dampener on the QM’s summer holiday plans, but I might need some therapy first. Or we could always just wear seatbelts.