The Islay bird, aged 4, has a meltdown when I say no to a clear rattle filled with water and glitter. "You've already got those amazing bubbles from Harry! Look! Look!" I call as I wave the wand frantically outside Brechin's. It's no good, she's just not going to stop till she has the glitter bomb in her possession. "That's it. We're goin to have to go home," I say desperately, looking round for her mother, whilst thrusting a two pound coin in return for some Hong Kong plastic.
It's put to good use as she dances around, waving it aloft as the dignitaries pass, the Sheep's Heid, and the Pipe Band from up river.