To say we’re excited is an understatement. We’re actually co-hosting the glittering ceremony and our role is to dispense DoE badges to an utterly selfless coterie, all of whom have made a difference to the lives of others via charitable work, achievement in sport or simply care in the community.

As the spirited Prince works the crowd, we prepare for our own introduction. Approaching, Philip is all smiles, flanked by his equiree and several local dignitaries. Sliding through the mass of expectant faces he finally draws to our side, his princely peepers darting between both of us and Mum. Pausing, a wry look settling upon his characterful face, his eyes light up like a hungry kid in a candy store. A small grin creeps across royal lips but then, as we prepare for whatever he might say, his smile broadens, Cheshire Cat like, and his eyes start to dance. He winks at us and we hold our breath.

We’re introduced by an equiree, and Philip’s eyes flit again, first between us and then, warmly, in Mum‘s direction. OMG. What is coming? Two seconds feel like two minutes. We’ll paraphrase (as we weren’t carrying our Dictaphones) but here’s the gist. To Mum: ‘Thank you so much for being here.” Mum stretches out a white gloved hand and is returned a firm shake as polite talk ensues. Attention eventually switches back to us as HRH announces: “I’ve met young men like you before.” Yay! Is he flattering us? Young? As his words dance in the air his impish grin widens even further and, as his eyes narrow like a lion preparing to pounce on its prey, he adds: “How do you do?” The words ‘how do we do what?’ almost tumble forth but we self sensor, opting instead for: “Very well, thank you, Your Highness. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” But we’re both thinking the same. He’s met ‘boys like us’ before? Where, for the love of Royal protocol, is this going? OMG. All eyes are trained on Philip.

The Prince chortles, winks again, then says: “It wouldn’t really work for me, but of course each to their own.” We look to Mum who, like us, is waiting nervously for the resolution of this royal ‘observation’. “And clearly your number is growing.” Hellls bells, put us out of our misery. “Unshaven men, that is. Yes, stubble seems very fashionable these days.” Blimey! Philip’s words release the pressure like a huge steamer popping it’s lid mid boil. “Ah, we wondered what you meant, what with your references to personal choice and all. We thought you, eh, we thought you meant, em…” One of us cuts the other off (its seems the best thing to do, for all concerned) by thanking Mr Queen for taking the time to come to Scotland and for supporting our young achievers.

Conversation normalising, the Prince explains that he adores Scotland while enthusing that this award ceremony is a fondly anticipated annual commitment. He reminds us of his various attachments to Edinburgh and in particular to the fact his former - mobile - holiday home, The Royal Yacht Britannia, is berthed here. So, while we mightn’t share a love of facial hair, we share an affection for the beautiful bateau and assure Philip we’ll pop by soon to pay the grand ship his warmest respects.

As the day draws to a timely conclusion, and after we’ve awarded each of the hard working youths a medal, we bundle Mum into our Range Rover, and head off home to sunny Glasgow. The very next weekend we drive back East to visit Britannia, still giggling about the way in which the Prince kept us on our toes, in anticipation of a royal gaffe which didn‘t materialise. He’s clearly a clever, if not always politically correct old fella and, as we step aboard the yacht he once called home, we wonder about the colourful discussions that surely took place as he discussed the merits of the people with whom he engaged during his global journeys.