Holy Island was looking rather Hebridean with its towering peaks and sandy lochs. I sat at the water’s edge with JMH trying to work out whether the island had switched coastlines. Had it somehow landed on the west coast of Scotland? When JMH pointed out the newly-built ‘executive homes’ across the water I declared that the Scottish planning process would never have given permission for such monstrosities: Holy Island was definitely still in England.

We returned to the mainland by ferry. I rescued the member of our party who lost her ticket by showing the £837 credit card receipt for the transport costs of our trip.

The ferry crew was curious as to the amount that I had paid for such a short journey. It all made sense to them, however, when I explained that MCF, PMF, AMF, RJH, IM et al were already on the deck and enjoying the sunshine as we sped back to the mainland.