TOURISM in Scotland has rocketed and you can certainly see why when you discover the breathtaking scenery, the wonderful array of shops and the fantastic restaurants and pubs.

Occasionally though, our so-called hospitality lets us down.

A few years back I drove my foreign friends who were staying with me to a very well-known hotel in Fife for lunch because their lunch menu was apparently second to none.

After a long drive, hunger pangs were getting the better of us as we settled in the bar and, eventually, a waiter came to our assistance.

“Can we have lunch menus please?

“Sorry lunch finishes at 2pm.”

“But it’s only 1.50pm and we’re starving and have driven a long way to get here.” I pleaded.

“Sorry but the chef won’t work beyond 2pm.”

Mortified I apologised to my foreign pals who were now ready to eat the leg of the table, and who just couldn’t fathom why any business would turn down custom.

“Customer service?” I muttered as we gathered our belongings.

On a similar vein, last weekend my niece Maggie and her husband Martin took their kids Ava, two and Daniel, nine months on a country bike ride.

Maggie had her own bike and Martin’s pulled one of the cabs behind his containing the children.

“We could do with some exercise and time to chill out with the kids.” Maggie declared.

All was well until two miles into the cycle Martin needed to relieve himself, so pulled over at the roadside and headed to some bushes to discretely hide his predicament.

Aware that the bike had stopped, Ava suddenly morphed into a baby she-devil and began the worst terrible two’s tantrum ever.

Nothing Maggie or Martin did had any effect on calming Ava down, in fact she got worse and was soon ridged with temper, at which point her parents were willing to try anything to distract her.

“Get the sweeties out of the bag Martin.”

But alas, the rucksack was bare as he had forgotten to pack the sweets.

“There’s a place about two miles up the road.” He suggested.

“We’ll get a packet of sweets in there.”

Rather frazzled listening to the hysterical two year old Maggie agreed.

“Great, anything to shut her up.”

So, like Graeme Obree they furiously peddled to the shop.

“A packet of chocolate buttons please.” Martin asked the elderly lady behind the counter.

“That’ll be 45p.”

Rummaging in his many pockets, Martin quickly realised that he had left all of his cash in the car so as not to lose it on the cycle.

Meanwhile, the deafening bawling of the baby she-devil echoed around the centre.

“We’ve left all our money in the car so can I pay by card please?”

“Nope, we don’t have card facilities.”

“Well, I need the sweets.” Martin pleaded whilst aware of the unwanted attention his beloved daughter was attracting.

Martin was desperate.

“I’ll leave my wallet with you as security for the chocolate buttons and cycle back to the car for the money.”

“Nope, afraid not.” The woman was not for budging.

“It’s only a packet of sweets.” Maggie got in on the act.

Meanwhile the baby she-devil was still screaming.

“Sweeties, sweeties.”

“I’ll leave my driving licence as well as the wallet.” Martin then offered.

But the assistant shook her head.

“I’ll leave my wife and kids too.”

Somehow the thought of being left with the screaming toddler didn’t appeal to the assistant.

“Nope, if you don’t have cash then you can’t have the sweets.”

Looking at his upset daughter and exasperated wife, Martin lost the plot.

“I only wanted a packet of bloody chocolate buttons.”

With the toddler under her arm Maggie pleaded.

“Martin just leave it.”

Storming out of the centre a fuming Martin ranted to his wife.

“I hope she goes out without money and no one helps her out.”

Apparently, when they arrived back at their hotel Ava had calmed down, but people were still staring.

But this time not at the toddler.

No, it was her dad who was causing the commotion.

“And another thing Maggie.” He couldn’t help himself.

“What miserable @@@@, (apparently his language was rather colourful) would refuse to give an upset wean a packet of sweets?”

Maggie sipped on her much needed half pint of cider as her ranting husband continued.

“I swear Maggie.” He was still raging with the frosty assistant.

“I really pray she falls flat on her face and breaks her false teeth!”

So much for a chilled cycle ride!