I was catching up on my backlog of posts to read and comment on, and came across Liar Liar pants on Fire: the Inkwell Challenge! from the amazingly and talented natural born liar @dreemsteem Who knew huh!!!

In particular, I refer you back to this line

For my entry this week, let's delve into my travel in the last 24 hours where I felt like I was royalty!!!

This prompt as far as I am concerned is right up my street.

I was brought up looking at a pewter mug that sat centre stage on the mantlepiece. It was the All Ireland Nurdling Championship which my father had won three years in a row.

Nurdling is an artform, and is being able to tell a lie and make it sound like a story or tell a story and make it sound like a lie!

Whilst reading the entry from Dreemie I read the word royalty... Job done, I have had so many royalty encounters I could do this post a few times over.

Young man you cut your finger!

We grew up in Belfast in Northern Ireland, but moved to Scotland during The Troubles. I believe that we are a product of where we grew up. I grew in the Protestant Royalist part of Belfast.

We moved from Belfast to Edinburgh and to celebrate a special birthday of the school, The Queen was coming to visit.

I was ten, and lucky enough to be in a class that Her Majesty would visit. It was a craft class, and I was making a glider plane out of balsa wood.

On the day of her visit, I managed to use my craft knife to slice a piece of balsa wood to make a beautifully smooth wing.

"Five minutes until The Queen steps in the classroom boys!" said our teacher Mr Benson.

Lots of men in suits came into the class, before it suddenly got quiet and in came this lady wearing a blue hat and blue gloves.

Round the classroom she went until she stopped at my desk.

Little Edward was proud as punch, but hid his left hand behind his back. Whilst I cut the wood I also managed to slice the top of my thumb, a scar which I still have. This happened with no time to get it sorted. I was a boarder so matron always made sure we had a handkerchief in our pocket, and I used that to wrap around my thumb.

The Queen was interested in the plane and said did I paint the wood before I assembled the plane. I said no and she pointed to the red wing.

"Oh fluff!" thought I!

She knew something had happened and said something to my teacher quietly. The moment passed and I was then sent packing by the teacher to get my thumb sorted!

Two Pina Coladas and a packet of crisps please!

Being from the part of Belfast I was we supported Glasgow Rangers football team who support the monarchy, and consider themselves British.

Back in the day I was a massive football goer, and would often fly back from wherever I was to watch the games. At the time Rangers were massive and bigger than most Englsh teams, we even had half the English national team playing for us. We were one of the 8 original members of The Champions League andour club is one of those 8 stars, we are footballing Royalty!

One weekend after a game against St Johnstone, I was in a hotel in Glasgow, The Holiday Inn in the centre, I had taken my niece to the match for her birthday present, and was staying there for the weekend with Mrs T and some friends.

A friend came bursting up into the room.

"Ed, Gazza is in the bar, come on man!"

No way. Paul Gascoigne was a God of a player and it was rumoured this was his last match!

Down I went, and took my niece, he was sat there with his mate Jimmy 5 Bellies! Yes the name was appropriate.

I asked the bar waitress if my niece was allowed in as she was only 10. She asked Gazza and they said yes, then Gazza called her over.

Pet he called, being a Geordie this is a typical affectionate name for a kid. He was drinking these blue cocktails and smoking!

He wrote her a little poem as an autograph and took her boa that she wore and put it around both of them and took pictures.

Of course, the ass in me asked if this was his last game. He didn't answer. We won 2-1, but lost next week as he was transferred and indeed that was his last game for The Famous Glasgow Rangers.

Some olives with your sherry Sir?

I have lived and/or worked in four separate regions of Spain.

One town I spent two years working in was El Puerto de Santa Maria. I lived at Calle Larga 5, the long street in a massive old house, it had 9 bedrooms, and a huge fresco in the main dining room off the courtyard.

El Puerto is close to Jerez de la Frontera and this is Sherry country.

In fact the word sherry came from Jerez being bastardized. The trade between this part of Spain and the UK was huge.

Two of the biggest producers were called Osborne and Terry (not very Spanish sounding names were they!).

So the estate agent was showing us round the house. There seemed to be no houses to rent, once she knew the company was paying, she kept showing us this one. The first Mrs T fell in love with it.

We moved in, and we looking at all the pictures on the grand piano. There he was, Don Tomas Terry with King Juan Carlos. Spanish Royalty meeting Sherry Royalty.

Down in that part of Spain, they called the sherry families sherry royalty, and we were to meet one.

A few days later, Don Tomas came to visit us, ostensibly to tell us about all the parts of the house and the history. The house and gardens were next to one of his bodegas, or sherry warehouses where it is kept.

He even showed us inside one and let us sample his brandy and fino sherry!

He really was a charming rascal, and if I turn out like him I will be impressed!