Setting off on a hill walk in yellow Crocs was a bad idea, but not as stupid as buying a modern three storey house on a remote Scottish island with an unpronounceable name that sounded like a sneeze.

We’d only seen the house once, had never visited the tiny main town, and had no idea of the frequency of the ferry service. The furthest that we had ventured was a café drowning in chintz, and crammed with patterned china and heavy lead crystal.

Worst of all, I felt such a hypocrite. How could I justify our purchase to AC having only recently explained to her that I was morally opposed to second homes?