It was well-known that this was the last season that the bed and breakfast on the Isle of Lewis would be welcoming guests, and for this reason it was mobbed. Most visitors were returning guests, keen to relive the fun of previous stays for one final time.
Unfortunately the proprietors could not cope with the influx of guests so I was asked to switch to ‘chalet maid’ role and help out at dinner. When I brought the tiny portions to the table it was obvious to all that there was simply not enough food to go round. One poor diner was obliged to wait until after everyone else had finished their meal before an extra crème caramel could be produced for her pudding.
Some of the guests supplemented their diet elsewhere. One headed off to the community shop to stock up on biscuits. Others discovered a pop-up fish and chip shack close to the shore. Even I bought a couple of long, thin, slimy veal steaks for myself and TPR to fry up later (although whether or not they would be in a fit state to eat by the time we reached the house was questionable because I kept dropping them in the sand).