So there I was, out on the Schloss Edwards terrace with a glass of something cosy from Speyside, and wearing a fleece and hat because this misnomer of a summer means the nights are cooler, my neck craned and my eyes straining towards the heavens.

But nothing. Nada. Niente.

A sage friend had taught me the trick of enjoying the Northern Lights, and I stood there, mobile phone poised to do as he suggested. At the merest hint of the aurora borealis, he suggested, you blatt off a dozen or so photographs and then examine them at leisure later by magnifying the images with your spread fingers.

I did as I was bid and fired off a few frames here and there and then looked at them more closely on my screen in hope more than expectation that I had been fortunate.

The experts said the conditions were perfect; the skies were clear and the weather fair. There was little light pollution. Only Greenock could spoil it, but then doesn’t it always? 

Whether it was down to the conurbation across the Clyde or not I don’t know, but the upshot was that I saw no Northern Lights.

What I did see the next morning in Helensburgh, however, in lieu of the Northern Lights, was an elegant sufficiency of temporary traffic lights. One of the two sets on the Corniche happily vanished last week, only to reappear to cause even more disruption to traffic on the main north south out of town.

Rhu was all but cut off because of work on a phone mast the other day and it seems that you can’t turn a corner in this town without a set frustratingly appearing in your path.

Mark Knopfler has celebrated his 75th birthday.Guitar legend Mark Knopfler has celebrated his 75th birthday. (Image: PA)

Having picked up a guitar for the first time as my midlife crisis at the age of 50, dragging my ageing fingers around a fretboard is still one of my favourite things.

With another big birthday coming up next year, part of me feels like asking for a new guitar as a present. Will it be Tom Petty’s Rickenbacker 12 string? Or George Harrison’s Epiphone Casino? Or how about Jeff Lynne’s Gibson Les Paul? We shall see.

One guitar hero’s name is missing: that of Mark Knopfler. Although a huge fan of the man and his music, and someone who has stood onanistically outside shops gazing at the same guitars he plays, I know buying one would be a waste of money.

I love his music more than I can adequately describe here, but he is such a virtuoso that trying to copy him and his style has proved impossible to me. Instead, I just lie back and bathe in the warmth of his voice and sound of his guitar.

The great man celebrated a remarkable 75th birthday this week: remarkable because the lifestyle of the rocker doesn’t lend itself to longevity unless you’re careful and he has obviously been very careful.

Knopfler’s Jewish father came to these shores from Hungary to escape Nazi persecution in 1939. He married and settled in Glasgow, where Mark was born and lived until the family moved to Newcastle at the age of seven.

Don’t be fooled by the Geordie accent. My guitar hero Mark Knopfler is, without question, Scottish.