My father paid £19 each for all five of us to visit the castle and within minutes I had ruined everyone’s day. How was I to know that the bus was not a shuttle around the estate, but instead a commercial coach taking foreign tourists to the Kyle of Lochalsh and the Hebrides?

Had I anticipated such a long journey, I would have worn more than just a tartan towelling dressing gown over my blue and white striped swimsuit, and carried a mobile phone. It felt terrible to be separated from my parents and sisters. They would be worried sick, completely unaware of what had become of me.

However, putting on a brave face, I made the best of the morning journey by chatting to tourists about the beaches of Harris and Lewis, then arguing about architecture with a Dane who held a fascination for the very ordinary 1970s box house.