Normally JG would be the last one to pack up the island house at the end of the season, but this year it was me.

“You’ll need to have your cases ready by 13:00”, he instructed.

I reached over to put some cheery music on the CD player, then delayed the task of packing further by wandering over to the window. A small flock of oyster catchers span in the air, flashing black, white and red against the blue late summer sky.

It was sights like this view from the window that caused me so much pain. Why couldn’t we move to the highlands? Even Oban would be an acceptable compromise.