TPR and I parked out tatty car outside the lodge on RB’s massive estate. He’d paid for all this land and the mansion further up the drive with his earnings as an orthopedic surgeon.

As anticipated, RB was not happy to find us littering his land. It was obvious that he did not recognise us when he angrily ordered us to leave in a tirade of right wing expletives. There was no doubt which way he had voted over Brexit.

Later TPR and I sat in the kitchen of a small cottage, the walls of which were papered all over with multiple copies of the same full-page advert for a croft in the Outer Hebrides.