I subsequently ran into Andrew in Oxford with his friends Martin Brackenbury and the late Rajiv Ghandi, such a charming individual, who later became Prime Minister of India.

    

Andrew has always been the life and soul of any party and, do you know, he does the best impersonation of Elvis Presley I have ever seen. I confess that I rather lost touch with him when he came to live in Scotland, although I once overheard Charlotte Hay, a sweet girl from Comrie, whose brother Angus was in the same regiment as my cousin, talking about his escapades in America.

     

It appears that Andrew was invited to Washington as guest-of-honour at the Virginia Highland Games and, on arrival at Dulles Airport, there was a red carpet and a pipe band waiting for him. No sooner had he stepped on to the tarmac than two kilted Americans sprang forward and dropped to their knees crying out ''Welcome, Your Grace!'' Then, to top it all, none other than Elizabeth Taylor, the actress who was so wonderful in the film National Velvet, turned out to escort him. Apparently she really does have the most amazing violet eyes!

       

Clan MacThomas is, in fact, one of the smallest clans in the world, but encompasses such sept names as McCombie, Thoms and Thomson. By the sixteenth century they were settled in Glenshee, but after supporting my great hero, the Marquess of Montrose, at Dundee in 1644, they were forced to scatter.

The position of chief lay dormant for almost 200 years until Andrew's father was recognised by the Lord Lyon King of Arms. The Clan Society, which numbers some 700 members worldwide, is currently run from Edinburgh by Andrew's sister, Gillian MacThomas, while Andrew, who is in banking, now lives in London with his pretty Dutch wife Anneke and their children, Thomas and Amy.

    

Each August, however, magnificent in kilt and eagle feathers, he presides over the annual clan gathering at The Cockstane on a mound close to the Spittal of Glenshee. After a brief ceremony, led by his piper, he proudly marches his clansfolk along the road leading to the Strathardle Games field. I just love these romantic old rituals, don't you?

      

Tonight Clan MacThomas are holding their annual dinner and ceilidh at the Spittal of Glenshee Hotel, and to celebrate the chief's fiftieth birthday, there is a lunch tomorrow for family and friends at the nearby Dalmunzie Hotel.

      

Strathardle is one of the smaller gatherings and, as such, enormously enjoyable. I simply love strutting up and down in my plaid skirt, leaning on my cromach and peering out at everybody from under the large felt, floppy hat I wear for such occasions.

      

I expect I will come across Sir Michael and Lady Nairn from Pitcarmie, Robin and Carola Stormonth-Darling from Balvarran, and John and Carol Steel from Ashentully Castle. I wonder if they will bring along the family's wonderful R-Type Bentley which I remember Bill, her father, driving over 30 years ago. Next Thursday we are over at Oban for the Argyllshire Gathering and, no doubt, Old Camperdown will be marching with the Duke of Argyll, the Marquess of Lorne, the Captain of Dunstaffnage, Malcolm of Poltalloch and Sir Fitzroy Maclean of Dunconnel. In the evening, we are joining a large party for the ball held in the Gathering Hall in Breadalbane Street, and I am so looking forward to reeling away to the Hon. Paddy Shaw's High Field Band from Taynuilt.

       

Young Johnnie Brown from Ardenessaig, is this year's Senior Steward, and, although I heard it was a much younger set last year, there are always the old faithfuls. For breakfast, I will probably team up with dashing Jamie Stewart from Appin, devastating, as ever, in scarlet tartan from head to foot, and Isa, his stylish Italian wife.

       

The only way to truly appreciate breakfast is after seven hours of solid country dancing. At Oban, as the sun rises over McCaig's Folly, a large helping of bacon and eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes, kedgeree, rolls and marmalade, washed down with a pint of beer in the restaurant adjoining the ballroom, is, for me, the ultimate indulgence. After all, we do have Dawkins, the chauffeur, waiting outside in the street in our brand new Mercedes 600, registered CAMP1.

    

Herald Scotland