Ballathie House Hotel is always a decent place for lunch and today was no different. More than a few visits back it was very different.
Britain was different.
The banks had just collapsed. No, not the beautiful banks of the River Tay upon which Ballathie sits. Instead, I refer to the financial leviathans that were the pension powerhouses for certain bankers.
I allude to those at the FAG end of society. (Okay, Frederick Anderson Goodwin.)
Such was the concern of our inveterate bankers, circumstances obviously weren’t bad enough for them to cancel their company day at Ballathie hosted by Ferrari and Maserati.
Looking back, I don’t know which was worse – my drooling over the cars, my salivating over lunch or my foaming at the mouth as I witnessed my overdraft heading into ‘overdrive’.
But that’s not my point.
“Have you booked, Sir?”
The phonetics of Baruffati and Maserati are not too discordant.
For one day at least, I discovered how the other half live. And, believe me, they don’t half live.
I also discovered where our money goes.
If only they had been driving Toyotas.