After all the fears that no one would bother turning up, that there would be huge protests and the whole thing would turn into a damp squib, it was fantastic to see thousands and thousands of people lining the streets of Edinburgh and packing out Bellahouston Park in Glasgow to show their adoration for the pontiff.
And apparently, some of them didn’t even work for the BBC.
Everyone entered into the spirit of the occasion.
The Reverend Ian Paisley went along to show stern opposition.
His plan didn’t work. In the pictures I saw, he could not have been laughing more if someone had been tickling his bare behind with an ostrich feather.
Sorry, I won’t suggest any more images like that. Some readers could be at their breakfast.
The Duke of Edinburgh, too, was in sparkling form.
Very taken with all the Scottish touches, he admired the tartan ties worn by Alex Salmond and Iain Gray.
Unable to help himself as usual, the duke turned to Annabel Goldie and asked matter-of-factly if she had made a pair of drawers herself out of the same fabric.
“I couldn’t possibly comment – and even if I did, I couldn’t possibly exhibit them,” was the unhelpful response from the Tory leader, who seemed hilariously embarrassed.
Like Chris Murray still is. He is the former helicopter winchman who is trying to live down an unfortunate incident. Driving into Stornoway, he realised he was not alone in the Citroen. Having cleaned the car earlier, his cat, a mischievous moggy by the name of DJ, must have jumped in.
Not a problem, thought Chris. He would just have to remember to take him out when he got home.
Having a few things to get in town, he stopped at the car park by Bayhead Post Office and Charley Barley, the butcher of renown.
When he got back to the car, Chris realised he had left the window open. Oh no. What about DJ? Alas, the mischievous moggy had gone walkabout.
He looked everywhere. No sign. He phoned Isles FM and they began broadcasting appeals for anyone who had seen a cat answering his very detailed description to get in touch. Then someone told him they had seen a cat up by the bushes at the neighbouring Co-op supermarket.
Off Chris went to investigate.
I should explain that his pussycat has always been known as DJ. However, like most cats, it is an independent wee thing which will not necessarily come running when called.
In recent times, however, Chris had discovered this particular puss responded far better to full names rather than mere initials. For that reason, he had started calling it Donald John. It seemed to work better.
So he began scouring the bushes which circumnavigate the Macaulay Road Co-op while crouched to the ground and shouting: “Donald John. Come on, boy. Out you come. Come on, Donald John.
“I have a nice big steak for you at home. Come on, Donald John. I want to go home now. Where are you, Donald John?”
What he did not quite realise was that, despite it being a Friday and therefore carry-out day, this was really quite uncommon behaviour at the Co-op. Shoppers stopped to wonder what was going on. Some told staff and soon a small but fascinated crowd had formed to speculate whether that was, indeed, the holder of the Queen’s Gallantry Medal for countless Atlantic rescues – and what the chopper hero was doing in the bushes giving the come-on to some chap with the promise of a meaty dinner.
But who on earth, they really wanted to know, was the unseen Donald John?
“I bet it’s that Macsween fellow who stood for parliament,” announced a retired nurse from the west side.
“I know quite a few Donald Johns, but I think they all go to Tesco,” declared a housewife from North Tolsta.
Seeing the ocean of puzzled faces, Chris jumped up to assure them he most certainly was not on the bevvy. “No, no, nothing like that. I just left the car window open. Donald John must have jumped out through the window when I was in the Trading Post,” he explained.
The assembled throng inched back ever so slowly. If he was not on the sauce, the former high-flier was obviously suffering from whatever the medical term is for the opposite of vertigo.
“Mabel, the funny man says he has a friend who jumps through car windows like they did in the Dukes of Hazzard. I think we’ll just go now.”
It all ended well, though, when Donald John – the cat, not the former prospective Labour candidate – emerged eventually from the undergrowth.
Finally, our red-faced hero was able to show Co-op bosses that he had lost his moggy and had not lost the plot.
Unlike the Pope’s driver, who did lose his way in Glasgow. For some reason, it has not been reported how the Popemobile took a wrong turn on the way to Bellahouston Park after it came off the M8 motorway.
At one point, the vehicle ground to a halt. A forklift was loading a lorry ahead and the driver was in no hurry. He didn’t even acknowledge the Pope’s driver’s toots.
They were getting anxious. Any more delay and they could be late and might miss Michelle McManus and Susan Boyle. Obviously, they didn’t want that to happen. After a few minutes, his driver turned to His Holiness and said: “That man is probably a proddy. He has no idea it’s you. You’d better show him your cross.”
“Good idea,” said the Pope as he wound down the window and shouted: “Oi, you, you annoying little man. Get out of the way before I knock your lights out.”
