I visited the National Museum of Scotland and something really bothered me

My sister-in-law and nine-year-old nephew stayed with us last week.

We had the whole itinerary planned - shops, cinema, Edinburgh Street Food for lunch and, of course, the family-friendly National Museum of Scotland.

This was not Junior’s first time visiting this institution, he informed us, authoritatively.

He’d been there with us before, when he was but a wee baby.

On arrival, as they do, he gravitated towards the shop, where he splurged his pocket money on a golden and glittery miniature Christmas tree and a very low-fi wooden spinning top.

Then we did the rounds. The Explore area in the Science and Technology bit was first.

This clatteringly busy room is full of things to do, from magnetic ‘car assembly’ jigsaws that you complete against the clock, to a remote control robot.

Take your prerequisite selfie in an astronaut’s suit, while Dolly the sheep presides over the scene.

She watches quietly, and thinks Buddhist thoughts about her next life. Maybe reincarnation would be a better option than cloning, so she can come back as a sheep in wolf’s clothing and tear us to shreds in retribution for the greasy fingers pressed up against her case.

While my nephew went round, I thought about when I was a kid, and used to visit the museum. That was back when attractions were designed for grown-ups only.

Then, my sister and I would race to the miniature locomotions in glass cases, which involved a much-anticipated single button push in order to watch the wheels slowly revolving.

In the Eighties, the only other interactive exhibit, apart from the rotating doors and the staircase to the entrance, involved chucking a penny into the fish pond.

We never found out how the koi carp spent that money. Probably on flakes and coral ornaments. Or drink.

Anyway, my nephew wanted to try every interactive exhibit that involved pushing buttons or cranking cogs. Those included a machine that turns £2 into a souvenir NMS penny. That must be the greatest mark up of all time - even more so than takeaway coffees or shoes - especially as the 1p was promptly lost.

National Museum of Scotland gallery | Getty Images

However, I’m not going to complain too much, as this place is free and, generally, wonderful.

The problem was the queues. We had been expecting that on a Saturday. It’s just that they were all monopolised by grown-ups.

For example, there was the racing car simulation, which has a printed guide beside it, saying you have to be above a certain height to have a shot, or you won’t reach the pedals.

The line-up here consisted mainly of fully grown thirty and forty-somethings, while tiny folk shuffled impatiently amongst them.

It reminded me of one of my late dad’s stories. When he was a child, he spent a Christmas afternoon crying on the stairs, as he watched my grandfather and his uncle playing with his new train set under the tree. He couldn't get a look in.

Anyway, although the sign on the car game says insert £1 for a shot, the guy in front of us put one Euro (or maybe it was a 10p) into the slot about 149 times, while we sighed and sagged behind him. He was so disappointed when it was consistently rejected, but wouldn’t quit. I started rummaging in my bag, until my other half hissed in my ear, “Don’t give him the money”. Harsh.

Despite the delay, my nephew eventually got his chance to zig-zag along a virtual race track, as ‘wrong way’ flashed up on the screen and he crashed into the barriers more times than we could count.

I don’t think we have a latent Michael Schumacher in our midst.

Next, there was a large group of twentysomething tourists crowding round the educational gadget that involves cranking a wheel until you can power a rocket, which then shoots into the air about ten centimetres, with a feeble ‘pfft’ noise, like a faulty Champagne cork.

We waited, and we waited, but they were in their bubble and having too much fun. The impatient kids were invisible to them.

It was the same with the game that tests your reaction, as you press coloured buttons that are distributed across the wall.

Okay, I DID have a shot of this one, but I wasn’t taking it as seriously as other adults. There was one guy who handed his partner his coat, as if he was wading into a manly fray, then got into an embarrassingly deep sumo squatting position, for better purchase on the wall. He managed an excellent score.

Big boy. I wondered if his display had given his other half the ‘ick’, but she seemed quite proud.

I do wonder where this arrested development stems from. My colleague blames the internet generation, who were brought up gaming, so that’s what they do.

I’m not entirely averse to it, since I’m pretty immature. However, I still accept that children should get first dibs on toys.

After about two hours of queueing and playing here, we watched the Millennium Clock Tower strike at 4pm, then headed to the other end of the museum - the Natural World gallery, aka taxidermy heaven, where sharks float in the ether, turtles trundle into eternity and snow hares are perfectly preserved in fisticuff boxing poses.

Again, grown-up queues.

As we waited and it neared closing time, two adults barged past us, desperate to test their weights on the scale, which reveals what your animal equivalent would be.

Pair of anteaters. Seems about right.

Too many of those, not making space for the tiny ants.