Instead I'll probably offend different sorts of people by sharing my experiences over the past few days, as the wife and I have just returned from Scotland.
Note that I don't have anything negative to say about Scotland or its people, so don't click the 'back' button just yet.
We've wanted to go to Scotland for a very long time, but as I've never fancied driving that far, we needed to find an alternative.
Now hindsight is a wonderful gift, and if I'd been lucky enough to posess it I would have taken a plane to Inverness and hired a car, but instead we opted to take the old fart's option of a coach tour.
On the face of it, the idea was sound.
We'd be picked up from the front door by taxi and taken to the coach depot from where we'd embark upon our journey. We were to leave on Sunday, returning on Friday with each day in Scotland involving trips to places of varying interest.
We knew that we'd likely be the youngest people on the trip (as is the nature of such things), but as everyone assembled to get onto the coach we realised we may have underestimated our problems.
People watching is always good entertainment, and the wife and I have a habit of giving certain people special names. Partly because it's fun, and partly because we're too unsociable to bother finding out their real names.
During the few days we were together we referred to the most sprightly of the bunch, a 70-something Londoner with a mouth that operated in a different time zone to her brain, 'Babs' (after Barbara Windsor), and I'll let you draw your own conclusions about 'Jabba the Hutt's big sister'.
Then we had 'Young Mr Grace', which will only make sense if you're familiar with the seventies British sitcom 'Are you being served?', 'Silent Bob', and 'Queenie & Phil'.
After the first hour or so of travel it was announced that they'd be playing some music from time to time to keep us entertained. Oh bollocks.
I was so glad I'd had the presence of mind to take my headphones and load up my phone with music, because it was torture to be aurally assaulted by James Last and his orchestra and assorted other old-person shite.
The first day involved a couple of stops en-route including Barnard Castle before reaching our halfway hotel midway between the Lake District and the Yorkshire Dales, where we'd spend the night.
It was fortunate we were only staying one night at the halfway point because the hotel was crap.
The room was tiny with a bathroom so miniscule there wasn't even enough space for the wash basin which was out in the main room instead, and the bed was fitted with the obligatory granite mattress.
There was a rat's maze of corridors (all of which smelled of cabbage) to get to the room, the ageing decor was cunningly disguised by dim lighting, the floors moved around under your feet, and the food was mediocre. Otherwise lovely....
This was also the first time witnessing first hand one of the big drains on the NHS, as at meal times most of the oldies started popping pills faster than teenage partygoers at an all-night rave.
Day two saw us cross the border into Scotland.
Initially the landscape was like a button-back sofa, with rolling hills spoiled only by random clusters of wind turbines, interspersed with areas of post-apocalyptic desolation.
Once north of Glasgow the nasty bits gradually disappeared and the whole scene became like the best bits of the Lake District turned up to 11.
It really hit me when we found ourselves driving alongside Lock Lubnaig, and the sheer beauty of the scene moved me almost to tears; so frustrating that after all the dull places the coach had stopped up to then, we didn't stop here to be able to properly enjoy such a breathtaking view.
Arriving at our hotel in Crianlarich, within the Trossachs national park, we settled ourselves into a room that although not brilliant was significantly better than the first one. The shower was crap, requiring the user to run around in order to get wet, the extractor fan outlet from the kitchens was quite near the window, and there seemed to be a herd of elephants in the room directly above.
However, everything was clean and tidy and the young couple running the hotel actually cared about their guests, which was nice.
Scotch in Scotland. It would be rude not to.
The next morning we went for a walk to stretch our legs before we were due to depart for our excursion. We found a little path leading down to the river where spider webs glistened with dew and mist hung in bands around the mountains and over the water.
Ben More had a bright halo around its peak as the rising sun illuminated the mist from behind, eventually breaking through and bathing the area in sunlight and shadows. Quiet, serene, beautiful.
This is what we'd come here for.
Sun rising above Ben More
Our excursion saw us take the train to Oban on the west coast. The views from the train were spectacular as we wound our way through the countryside and once again we felt the draw of nature, desperately wanting to be out there, being part of it all rather than gazing longingly at it through a window.
On our arrival in Oban we made the steep climb up to McCaig's tower which overlooks the town and offers views across to the Isle of Mull, as well as apparently being a favourite hangout for the world's laziest cat.
World's laziest cat at McCaig's tower
View south-west from McCaig's tower
Subsequent days took us to places like Killin at the south end of Loch Tay, with some rather attractive rapids, and Aberfeldy where we went for a walk in the woods during a lunch stop and saw our first red squirrel.
We also visited a distillery. They said in the brochure that this was where 'Famous Grouse' comes from. As someone who enjoys good whisky, this was very disappointing because to me 'Famous Grouse' is cheap nasty blended shite that I'd only buy if it was to use in cooking or something - certainly not to sit and drink.
As it turned out, the Glenturret Distillery is a small-batch distillery which is only associated with Famous Grouse in that one of their single malts is a small ingredient of it.
We were taken round the various stages of the process, and as a whisky lover it was fascinating to learn so much more about it.
We finished up with a lesson on tasting whisky, first with Famous Grouse, which further confirmed my opinion of it, then with Glenturret Peated single malt which was so amazing I had to buy a bottle there and then - they only sell it at the distillery and a select few specialist shops.
Wet stuff at Killin
Another excursion took us to the Ben Cruachan power station - a hydroelectric power station built inside the mountain which has a natural reservoir at the top.
It's a 440 megawatt, four turbine rapid response station which copes with the surges in demand like everyone putting the kettle on when a party political broadcast comes on the telly.
When there's little demand and the rate is cheap (at night) the generators are run as motors and the turbines act like pumps, drawing water from the outlet in Loch Awe, back up to the reservoir 1200 feet above.
Very interesting to an engineer such as myself, but the experience was diluted by the interference of Health & Safety which meant that we only got to see a couple of sanitised touristy bits of the system rather than the really exciting parts.
By the time Friday came around we were more than ready to come home.
Don't get me wrong, Scotland is amazing but it would have been better to explore on our own terms.
A coach trip is a perfectly good way to experience this sort of thing, provided you're old enough to get overexcited if someone offers you a chocolate Digestive biscuit rather than a Rich Tea, and enjoy being bombarded with dreadful old-person music and the incessant historical waffle from a tour guide with industrial strength halitosis.
We stopped at Gretna Green on the way back, and never have I seen such a shameless cash-in.
Every kind of useless tourist-grabbing tat is packed into one small place, all of it extortionately expensive, but because of the history of the place and the inclusion of a big car and coach park, there's an endless stream of the old and putrid looking like extras from 'The Walking Dead' and the morbidly obese waddling from side to side like emperor penguins, ready to hand over their cash in return for a pointless trinket with a bit of tartan glued on.
The whole place is an example of everything that's wrong with the world.
As we went further south, the landscape became progressively flatter until we reached the snooker table that is Lincolnshire and Cambridgeshire and the scenery was once again two-dimensional, devoid of lumpy bits to break up the tedium.
One final observation over the past few days is the behaviour of some of the crumblies, who seemed to feel entitled to steal everything they could from the breakfast bar at the hotel.
A huge breakfast was served every day, with all sorts of cold and hot things to choose from.
This clearly wasn't enough for some. There were jugs of fruit juice for people to take a glass of it to their table, but I watched one woman approach the juice furtively, take a half-litre travel mug out of her bag and fill it with juice from the jugs before tucking it away again.
Others swiped every portion of jam and honey from the table and stuffed them into their pockets along with pots of yogurt, pain au chocolate and basically anything that wasn't nailed down.
I wonder if any cutlery went missing too?
These aren't poor people - at almost 600 pounds each for the trip they can't be - so why do they feel the need to grab all this stuff they don't need?
These people are so tight they squeak when they walk.
As I said, Scotland is fantastic and the people are great, but if we return to explore further we'll do it another way.
The holiday was well organised, the driver was skillful, the host friendly and courteous, and the whole thing ran like clockwork.
However, coach holidays have a reputation for being for old folk and I saw nothing to counter that preconception, so if you're not at least drawing your state pension I suggest you look elsewhere.
Oh, and by the way - genuine Scottish haggis is way better than the stuff we get in the supermarkets in England!
Fantastic scenery in Glencoe