highland fling: brand story/press release to launch catwalk collection. This format offered pringle the opportunity to embody the spirit of the brand whilst describing the colours and styles of their collection

highland fling; a scottish (love) affair

they met in the afterglow of some after show party somewhere in mayfair where nobody plays fair. forty eight hours later he was packed, strapped and buckled into the passenger seat of a vintage aston martin v8 volante, driving towards her family’s ancestral home through the morning mist. fat lazy west coast beats thumping from the sound system scattered a herd of stag across the glen towards the placid loch.

‘well, you did say you wanted to come back to mine…’ she’d remarked as they slipped noiselessly across the scottish border the night before.

‘tasty castle’, he said, smiling as she zoomed round the familiar curves of a sweeping private road. ‘that’s the gate house’, she replied ‘there’s the castle’ she pointed to a towering granite structure visible from every inch and corner of the valley. and it really was a castle. old as history, sitting proud and fearless, framed by a crisp baby blue morning sky and a halo of a thousand and one shades of bruised purple, heather, green and claret leaves, plants and foliage alternately defying and submitting to the forces of autumn.

the car parked, the front door opened and family spilled out smiling as the meeting and greeting began. dogs jumped, women kissed and men shook hands firmly as they asked about the journey.

she showed him around the house and the grounds. the place was drenched in history, wrapped in the luxury of modern tradition; a lively collision of style over content with a healthy disregard for following rules. sleek brushed aluminium technology blinked and hummed discreetly in ancient cabinets. their modest contemporary art collection sat comfortably next to the old family portraits. a stuffed stag’s head smiled serenely at the lichtenstein in the library. these people were not afraid of change but they appeared to be fiercely proud of their heritage. there were badges shields and rampant lions all over the house and the family tree looked more like a forest.

later on, upstairs in her old bedroom, she had started to unpack. her suitcase was like a treasure chest that had burst open with piles of cashmere tumbling out in all directions over the magnificent four poster. as she decided what to wear, the whole room was transformed into a wild orgy of fabric, pattern and colour; shirts, knitwear, scarves and jackets draped over every available corner of the dark solid polished furniture and filled with the delicate delicious scent of a city girl with a flair for fragrance. fortunately, the huge floor to ceiling mirror had been installed many years ago to accommodate her passion for fashion.

‘you don’t have to dress up for me’, he teased her.

‘and then i told him’, she confided to everyone at dinner ‘i don’t dress up for anyone darling. i dress for myself… but what do you care as long as i undress for you?’ she winked, smouldering over the table to rapturous applause, hoots and whistles from the younger elements of the party and mute melancholy from the retired end of the room.

‘which explains why we were a little late for dinner’ she apologised unashamed, wrapping a long sinewy arm around her brand new lover, painting a wicked wet crimson kiss on his cheek. then without warning, she stood up on her chair, crystal glass raised high in the air and pronounced ‘you can take the girl out of scotland but you’ll never take scotland out the girl!’ then she jumped down and collapsed in a fit of giggles. the night was long, hilarious and full of music. and so was the next night after.

before they knew it, it was time to leave. farewells were easy for her. she was used to coming and going, but as they pulled away from the castle she could see him cast a longing eye in the rearview mirror. she’d seen that look before. it was a hungry look that revealed he wanted more…

‘ah well’ she purred with a measure of sympathy ‘that’s the thing with a highland fling’. she smiled mischievously, booted down hard on the accelerator and in a cloud of dust and gravel, they were gone.