You leave Inverness and head west through the glens and past the lakes and around and along the lochs, until you follow the last loch in Wester Ross, an endless brackish coastline, becoming slowly, more and more maritime and then the road runs out and you are facing Skye in the distance. Here is a small settlement ofa few crofts and bungalows sprinkled across the hillside down to the water’s edge, with just the company ofthe sheep and rocks, the streams and trees, the small birds and deer. Here is Neil’s Place – the old post office – a red painted galvanised roof upon the white croft walls, surrounded by the grazed sloping fields and trickling water; sitting on the hillside and staring out over Loch Torridon. A place I had known off or fifteen years – to me a place ofman y stories.

A visit in March and April; days and evenings ofw alking, painting, thinking, exploring, drinking, talking, drawing and discovering, but only really scratching the surface and therefore demanding my return … one day.