It had been a very long journey, five hours by train to Glasgow, followed by an overnight stay, then an early train from Glasgow to Mallaig, another bottom-numbing five hours. Fortunately, it was only a few hours’ sail from Mallaig to Inverie. I was surprised that the ferry charged more for my suitcase than for me. The crossing was choppy, and few of the other passengers were looking decidedly the worse for it. I had no problems; I have never suffered from motion sickness. The boat moored at the pier, and we all disembarked – I think about twenty of us. Mostly walkers and hikers by the look. It was midday sailing, so unlikely to be day trippers.

The instructions for my B&B were to turn right from the pier, and then they were on the left, and if I got as far as the Forge, I had gone too far. It was a reasonable walk, a few hundred yards perhaps, and there I was. I knocked on the door, and after a moment it opened.

“Mica?” I was asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Come in, come in. How was your journey?” Her accent was soft and easily followed; I hope that mine was easy for her.

“Long. Ten hours by train, and the seats were hard and uncomfortable. Yeah, not good. I can only hope that my few days here are relaxing; I really want to unwind. Work has been brutal.”

“Oh, you will unwind here, Mica. There are no cars; there is one van used to transfer goods from the ferry and a slow mobile phone service that only works depending on the weather.”

“Okay, yes, I expected that. I plan to be cut off from my old world for a few days. Are there places I can eat?”

“Yes, you can grab some food at the Old Forge, or, for a little extra, you can share our meals, but let me know in the mornings so I can ensure I prepare enough. I hope that you bought cash; few places take credit cards here.”

“Thank you. Yes, I am prepared for that.” I had bought a thousand pounds in cash with me. I would have to go home if that ran out. I had already paid for my accommodation before I left, so the couple of hundred pounds a night, steep, I thought, didn’t need to come from my cash-only meals and the like.

“Now, I am Morag, and my other half is Angus; he is up the road just now. Let me show you to your room.”

I grabbed my suitcase and followed her upstairs.

“Now then, this is your room, and this is the bathroom. Angus and I have an ensuite, so the bathroom is yours exclusively. The other room is currently unbooked, and so there is no one to share with, but that may change; we do get occasional people come on spec.” She opened the bedroom door, and we went in.

A pretty nice and standard room. Large bed, dresser, wardrobe, bedside tables with a digital clock and side lamp. That was pretty much it.

“Downstairs is a sitting room that you are welcome to use. We have a TV in there with Sky, and you can use that whenever you like. Next to that is the kitchen; you can help yourself to as much tea and coffee as you like, and you can drink the tap water too if you prefer. Breakfast will be served in the dining room. What sort of time would you like breakfast?”

“Oh, about eight, I think. If that is okay?”

“Yes, that is fine. Will you be wanting a cooked breakfast?”

“Yes, please.”

“Right, I shall leave you to settle. You don’t need to let us know when you come and go; your room key also has a front door key, so you can go and explore when you like. The Wi-Fi password is next to your bed.”

“Thank you, Morag. I may just go for a little walk after I have unpacked and washed.”

And that was that. I was now in what is classed as Britain’s most remote village. You can’t drive here; there are no connected roads. There is a pub and a shop and a few hotels, and that is about it. It is on the mainland, just on the edge of Lock Nevis, and there is a pretty regular small ferry service that brings goods and travellers.

My last contract had been difficult; the customer, a government agency, had poorly negotiated the original contract with their supplier, leaving many loopholes for the supplier to exploit, and it had been exceedingly difficult to manage. The supplier just treated the agency as a cash cow, but I was having none of it. I managed to cap a lot of the excesses, but it had been fraught. I needed a break where no one could get hold of me, and this seemed perfect. Internet, yes, but a roaming signal out of the guest house? No, not really.

I wandered back up the street and past the ferry pier. It was all quite busy, mostly tourists wandering around, although I didn’t see a lot to look at, mostly B&Bs and guest houses, the odd hotel, and a shop, and that was pretty much it. I walked the other way and past the pub, The Old Forge, and then on further, more guest houses and signs to a campground.

Fine, I wanted secluded, and it looks like I got secluded. I had read that most visitors come to camp and then go hiking; it seems you can legally pitch a tent pretty much anywhere, as long as you don’t disturb any wildlife or livestock. Not my thing, camping. I headed back to the B&B and let myself in.

“Aha, you must be Mica; I am Angus,” a red-headed, hirsute man greeted me. If you want tea with us, it’s not too late; let me know and Morag will make extra.”

“Oh, hi Angus, er, yes please, that’ll be nice. I am not sure whether I am going to sit in the lounge or lie on my bed; I’ll just go up now and then decide.”

“Okay, tea will be at six.”

“Thank you.”

Well now, he was a ginger and so was Morag. I wondered if that was the norm; I had assumed it was an unreal stereotype. I hadn’t noticed hair colours as I walked around, and anyway, most of the people I saw seemed to be tourists.

Up in my room I took off my dress and lay on the bed, using all the pillows to prop myself up. I could see out of the bedroom window across the Loch. It seemed to have started to rain; I came back just in time. Pretty soon the wind was beating against the window, and I was doubly glad I wasn’t in a tent. The noise was quite loud, and I put my earphones in to try and blank some of it out. Even though they were noise cancelling, I could still hear the wind and rain as it beat against the windows.