Thanks to the miracle of tech, my wife can send me regular updates of her participation in a house party in a fishing lodge in Scotland.
Amazingly, not just photographs but short film clips are transmitted almost in real time, showing what my father referred to as ‘Piccadilly Highlanders’.
I was instantaneously transported from the dank and silent cottage into a drawing room with tartan sofas, a crackling log fire, and full ashtrays, along with occasional tables with glasses quivering from heavy nearby footfall.
No kilts, but a