There was the farmer, who had to hop off the Citylink bus halfway to the Royal Highland Showground, when he realised, in his haste to get going, his phone with its virtual ticket, was still lying abandoned in a Glasgow hotel room, where he had left it for safety.

He experienced a very round trip, only to find when he did finally arrived at the gate, phone in hand, those big ‘fumbly’ fingers could not get those tickets to appear on screen.

There, he had to learn a very quick lesson in suppressing all those frustrations, all that anger at himself and the new systems in place, put on his biggest, best smile, plead with those huge eyes, and well, we hope he got in.

There were stories of those siestas taken on the grass in the sunshine, to recoup from the excitement and celebrations, and that was before the troops even got through the gate, to the sing song snoring of tired farmers returning on the buses home. It’s those stories that add the final icing to the cake of a fantastic RHS 2022.

We've come through a virtual world of online streaming, sharing those memories of fabulous kist parties. Competitions filmed from behind closed doors.

The glimpses of the TV programmes, that transported us from our living rooms into the very heart of the rural and farming communities. Highlighting that huge gaping hole, where screen life seemed to take over real life, as we could only watch, and wave, from afar.

Oh, my goodness, it felt good to be back.

To had hopped on that Loganair plane, flying out across the most scenic views, leaving behind the guests, the animals, and the farm, as they faded into the blurry distance. A team of fabulous helpers, making it all possible, working their magic behind the scenes, as suddenly for us, ‘It was show time’.

The expectation of waiting at the showground, in the queues, to get in. The atmosphere buzzing, as once through the gate, in among the crowds, you can almost feel the nerves, the excitement, the anticipation, of the competitors, as dress codes are adhered too, tack has been polished, halters beautifully handmade.

To finally, once again, be immersed at the very heart of the competition. The celebrations, the networks and the connections, the coming together, from far flung corners, that diverse and eclectic mix, of the most talented, the most passionate, of the rural and urban communities.

The people, the animals, the beasts, that together become the Royal Highland Show, in Edinburgh, as once again, all the stops were pulled out to make for an action-packed, fun-filled few days, this year celebrating 200 years of agricultural and rural gatherings in Scotland.

It always feels such a privilege to see the finest of produce. The sheer hard work and that drive, and ambition, that leads to the success of the very best of Scotland’s, and the UK’s, rural and agricultural industries.

To be back, in the thick of the farming community once again – it was fantastic.

The crisp white jackets of the stockpeople, the tweed blazers, bowler hats and caps of the judges, the sharp fitted jackets, and jodhpurs, of riders and all those huge shiny dreams of success.

The polished machinery and mammoth, monster-sized trucks, stood bold and beautiful, glinting in the morning sunshine. The reality and growth of childhood ‘Tonka Toy’ ambitions, as the very latest breeds of the biggest and best shiniest of tractors, and diggers, Jeeps, and Caterpillar trucks, all glossy and gleaming.

It's also all about the scent of those Aberdeen-Angus burgers filling the air, amongst the hustle and bustle of the crowds. The sound of the horses’ hooves clip-clopping along, as gates close and open, allowing competitors to make their way from the stalls to the show ring.

Those big, burly beasts, the sheep and the tups, the goats, with their kids, the donkeys, the horses, and those huge, majestic Clydesdales, all waiting patiently for their ‘turn’, watching, and enjoying the attention of the passers-by. The creative talent of the farming community.

The attention to detail, that close bond between man and beast, which has been honed and grown over weeks, months, and years. Behind the scenes, there's been long hours of grooming, training, developing that strong special bond of trust, that leads man and beast to work so beautifully in tandem in that show ring.

The generations of competitors, youngsters who are competing for the very first time, from a long line, spanning the generations, to the competitors who are here, each show, growing their journey.

It’s the fine breeding lines of generations of livestock. The sheer drive and passion, as I look on in awe of the talent, the innate knowledge, the ground-breaking innovations, that are showcased and discussed, as the growth, the diversification, the success stories of this amazing industry are shared and celebrated.

The inspiring and colourful crafts, as the makers share their stories and produce. All those small supporting side stalls and shows, that lead on to the big show.

Read more: Islay –the 'whisky isle' – opens its festival doors again!

The clubs and societies, the cookery theatres. All leading us on a journey, igniting the senses, as the very best of Scotland’s diverse larder is showcased and shared. The flavours, the recipes, from the success of those artisan producers to the big brand names.

The MacSween’s Haggis, neeps, and tatties, followed by a cone, bursting with the fruity, sweet, flavours of a few scoops of Mackie’s ice cream, that has become a firm favourite of my show time tradition.

The younger generation of the clan always come away with a long list of characters they would like to introduce to the farm. They fall for the neatly clipped, shampooed Valais Blacknose sheep, the sweet looking goats, the 'butter wouldn't melt in the mouth' and we are honestly always this well behaved’ Shetland ponies, they get them every time. There’s the huge muscly bulls, who saunter casually along, as soft as giant teddy bears

But it's the spectators, the participants, the judges, the organisers, and the organisations, who all come together, work together, as one huge team community to pull of this amazing feat that is the Royal Highland Show at Ingliston.

From past glimpses of HM Queen, or Princess Anne, hopping from a Range Rover heading into a nearby marquee or pavilion. The screaming child, over-tired, as the last of a soggy cone falls from their tiny grip out beyond the push chair, to the gregarious groups of young farmers, and the well-heeled older generations.

The gasps, and sighs, the huge cheers, and claps from the crowds. Those smiles and that sheer unbridled delight, as clear rounds are announced, as the spectators are taken on the journey, as personal bests are achieved, and cups and rosettes are presented.

The status of that judge’s badge. The fleeting glimpses of the private parties and gatherings happening behind closed doors, as champagne and canopies flow. There's the big stone house, with its turrets and tight security.

The strict formality, as banquets and feasts are served on crisp white tablecloths, as the sweet scent of fresh floral arrangements linger in the air.

The kist parties along the lines, as the ceilidhs begin, the relief, the euphoria, the hearty drams, as accordions, pipes, and amazing talent is enjoyed and celebrated.

The queues for the buses and taxis, the horse transporters in traffic jams, as gradually the masses depart and disperse, exhausted and happy, laden with purchases and good memories, spilling out into the sunshine, before journeying home, carrying those rural dreams, their agricultural adventures and inspiration with them, young and old alike.