Lisbeth Salander was just one of the surprises at the guest house on the Isle of Lewis. Also packed in with the “regular” guests were my nephew PF and his sister AF, Mikael Blomkvist (on hand to help Lisbeth track down the criminal on the loose), and several black cats, all of which had their own assigned seats at the dinner table.

A further innovation was a nightly system whereby guests handed over their suitcases at 5pm every evening. Two porters would then sort the luggage on trolleys and deliver it to the appropriate bedrooms. My brown briefcase looked rather out of place next to the other cases on the pile of luggage. It appeared that the only way to travel these days was with your belongings packed into matching aluminium suitcases.

Lisbeth and Mikael were meant to be travelling incognito, but this was absolutely impossible. I knew from reading the Stieg Larsson novels that Lisbeth was slightly odd-looking, but I had no idea that she shared the facial characteristics of the (supposed) Roswell space aliens. Anyone who ever came across her could not ignore the blue pallor of her skin, and her peculiar expressionless eyes.