Forget Princes Street Gardens, I’m selling debentures for Susan’s Street Gardens – Susan Morrison

We’re thinking of redecorating the living room. Well, we have to. Someone, and we don’t play the Blame Game here, went a bit bonkers over Yuletide with candles, and big black sooty streaks are now very much a feature of the living room wall.

So much for the Swedes and their hyyge nonsense. One scented candle too close to the textured paper and bang goes your cosy well-being and balanced chakras when springtime reveals the damage.

The Christmas tree’s left a bit of a mess as well. Might think about a new rug over there. The sofa is looking a bit tatty. I wonder if we should go for a complete overhaul?

Oh, I hear you say. Pricey, madam, very pricey. And you’d be right. But it’s OK. I’ve thought of that. I’m going to sell debentures to cover the cost. Well, I thought, if they can sell secret golden tickets for Princes Street Gardens to raise money to give the bandstand a bit of a facelift, then why shouldn’t I?

As I understand it, you give the council a bit of cash and then you get to have fabulous views of any shindiggery that’s going on in the revamped Ross and what they describe as ‘Victorian-themed ­dinners’ in the cottage.

I’m not exactly sure what a ‘Victorian-themed dinner’ might be, but I imagine it involves listening to the sound of rickets-ridden children coughing up their TB-damaged lungs outside and running the risk of food poisoning due to the suitably detailed reconstruction of 19th century kitchen hygiene standards.

Pay a bit more and you get exclusive access to concerts and 25 of your employees get a special tour of the grounds with a talk by the project managers.

Office parties seem to have taken quite a turn for the dull in these modern times. Time was when 25 office workers got together for a bit of a night out, the last thing on ­anyone’s mind was “let’s chat to a project manager”.

So, I’m thinking that you could have exclusive access to my back ­garden during big concerts at the ­Castle. No, you can’t actually see the Ross Bandstand, to be fair, but I figure a few deckchairs out there, turn the TV around to face the window and stick on a DVD of anything the bands have done before and bingo, practically the same, innit?

At Hogmanay you can see the very, very top of the very, very high fireworks. And you get exclusive access to my mum’s shortbread. Worth the golden ticket alone, mate.

Obviously, the Victorian-themed dinners are a bit of an issue, but let’s just say that good old Queen Victoria was a demon for curry and Mughal Spice does a lovely korma, so we’re sorted there.

Clearly, touring 25 office workers around the garden could be a problematic.

It’s not a big space and my Yorkshire husband is likely to lose it if Andrew from marketing tramples his rhubarb, but I’m working on that.