~ I was worried that I wasn’t going to have enough when I was cutting up oranges yesterday, but my marmalade making has surpassed expectations. I now have 13lbs of the stuff sitting on the side in the kitchen. If I buy some more sugar then, with the rest of the oranges in the freezer I will be able to make the same again. Should see through in any snow-ins we get this winter!

We spend the afternoon unpacking, making a start on the washing and having a tidy-out. By the evening we are both a bit hot and tired to be cooking and so we have a take-away dinner whilst watching Springwatch – we decide that we like the new pairing of Chris Packham and Kate Humble – before we go for a drive round the estate looking for Bella. We are confused by a grey cat under a car in Cypress Gardens – for more than a moment we think she could be black and Bella. But she’s not; she’s grey and she’s not. No sign though and our drive round turns up nothing. We go to bed tired from our holiday and a bit subdued by events.

The rest of the journey was uneventful and we arrived at Caroline’s house in Wakefield at half past five and just in time for dinner; steak pie and veg was very welcome.

We got shown round the house, and the children’s the bedrooms and the sunflowers and the veg patch in the garden. We had a nicd evening catching up, two week’s after the wedding, and for us, an excellent way of easing ourselves back into normal life.

Emerging into th sun again we seek out some lunch – settling quietly for the St Giles Cafe (was once the Cafe Florentine) whereI had a very delicious bacon and brie waffle drizzled with maple syrop.

A pleasant walk back down through Grassmarket and we leave Edinburgh and out onto the motorway back towards Glasgow and down the M74 to Carlisle where Emma takes over the driving shortly before we cross the border…

Having booked ourselves onto the 1 o’clock tour we wandered into town, and, having found John Lewis, we browsed potential bed spreads to buy with the vouchers that Emma’s sister had given us. We found some possibilities for when we retun home and actually go looking with the vouchers in hand. We then wandered back, and found The Willow Tea Rooms, before retuning to the Glasgow School of Art in time to peruse the shop and buy some souvenirs before our tour.

The tour itself was given by a very knowledgeable first year student called Lotty who took us round the whole school showing us not just the grander elements of design but also the smaller, more intricate parts, like the motif detailing into the air conditionign and heating vents. Stand outs for me were the staircases in polished cement (or Glasgow marble) and the library which was stunningly beautiful.

Following the tour we went for lunch at the Willow Tea Rooms, a jewellers now on the ground floor, we sat in the gallery. Whilst the setting was stunning we were a bit disappointed by what we received and the service. Also, I found the background hum of all the tea-making machines, an intruding distraction to the ambience, and one that I find impinges the relaxation.

We leave Glasgow spending half the journey time getting between the two rival cities, and half the time geting through Edinburgh. Eventually we arrive at our chosen car park in Holyrood Park in the shadow of Salisbury Craggs and Arthur’s seat.

We mooch up the royal mile in a leisurely fashion, getting distracted by various closes and shops. We manage to restrain being seduced by the fudge shop. Emma does find her MacGregor tartan scarf. We also book tickets for the Mary King’s Close tour for tomorrow and make our way back to our hotel, going on a circumnavigous route through Edinburgh to avoid the tram works to return to our hotel in time for dinner.

We walk down to the jetty as Paul goes up in the quad bike to collect our luggage, and then we get the boat across. All too soon we are back on the mainland for the last time. We don’t rush though, driving to Ackarackle first to post postcards first and then quite deliberately in the wrong direction to the Arts Centre on the banks of Loch Sunart – a gallery run as a studio by a collective of artists. We see almost immediately a gorgeous picture of Castle Tioram with Eilean Shona behind by Andrew Stewart, but it is £1100. We do treat ourselves to a large, limited editon print though, from the honeymoon fund.

From there we go back on ourselves, through Ackarackle ofr the last time, and on to the road to the isles to return first to Glenfinnen where we have the most satisfactory lunch in a 1950s railway carriage and then a look round the station museum before we are back on the road to the isles, Glen Coe and Edinburgh.

We arrive uneventfully at the hotel just as they are rolling up the red carpet to a wedding reception, and with the sound of bagpipes ushering us in we frind our room and relax before dinner.

That is, we do relax when we are not disturbed by the raucous calling of baby birds within the wall behind our bed. It’s all a bit of a culture shock, with the TV and the free wireless internet, from the far away peace of Eilean Shona.

In the evening w have a lovely meal that is included in our stay and go for a walk around the grounds before we return to our room to plan our next day in Glasgow and/or Edinburgh.

We made a start on the packing, the cottage looks so different with the wedding cards and the bunting down, but the stove keeps chugging away, a reassuring warm glow from across the room.

We have the best of last night’s meals that we could have asked for in the Stalker’s Pie that Rose provided for at the fantastic price of just eight pounds.

Our favourite arrived at 9.30 and carried off whole blue muffins in his mouth after he had fully checked on all the option tonight’s menu.

Appropriately enough, as our holiday on Eilean Shona comes to a close, we also reach the end of the playlist, although inappropriately the last song is Tainted Love. Tomorrow, the honeymoon moves on to Edinburgh.

We had a little wander down through the woods and then explored the gardens of Eilean Shona house. Rose came out of the house to chase us away until we explained that Alistair had said that after Sunday it was okay ato. But apparently people have a habitg of coming ashore from yachts and snooping around inside the house. The gardens are beautiful and lead us down to the shore, and the quay. We potter on the beach for shells and driftwood.

Returning to our little red-roofed cottage in the woods for lunch we finish up the Alsager oatcakes (they’ve lasted well!), the herring and the mushrooms.

As Emma has an afternoon sleep I settle back in my chair with a view of the loch and write postcards. I note that it is raining on the mainland but still perfectly dry on our totally peaceful and tranquil island.

It’s been a fantastic stay here this past week. Such a beautiful island, only 2½ miles long and ½ mile wide you can go for days if you choose without seeing a single other soul. We’ve seen a pair of buzzards, two red deer, logts of smaller birds (including some very greedy chaffinches) and pine martins who come to visit us almost every evening for nuts, and cake, eggs, cheese and even the occasional beef olive!

It’s been an inspirational place too. J.M. Barrie was apparently inspired to create Neverland by coming here, and with its little islands, inlets, lochs and castles I can well believe it. I’ve begun writing my next novel here, the curious one about Mr Tumnal. It’s all very restful and I’m not sure that we want to leave. We certainly would like to come back here, and maybe bring my parents with us for I’m sure Barney would love it here.

We put left-over mini-muffins from the wedding out fo them with the nuts today and the first of the three liked this food so much, he was intent to try and fit as many in his mouth as possble. It would have worked to if the greedy whatsit hadn’t spotted the banana and tried to take that too!

The second of three polished off most of the rest of the food and the afore mentioned banana, so we snuck outside and put out some cheese and grapes before settling back to snaffle our own cheese, biscuits and a wee dram of whiskey watch the final pine martin enjoy his cheese supper.

Today was our second off-island adventure; this time we returned to Ackarackle (where we learnt how to pronouce the name perly – Ak – har -ackle) to stock up on mid-week provisions from the local store. Then we drove down to Salen, and beyond where we failed to visit an art gallery randomly located in the middle of nowhere, before heading off down the *main* (single lane with passing places for overtaking) road along the Ardnamurchan Peninsular.

We had an excellent stop at the Glenborrodale National History and Wildlife Centre. I crawled through a very dark place to see where the wild cats lived and was almost scared witless. And then we had a very good talk through the Golden and Sea Eagles that they have nesting there (and near there). We decided to take out joint membership of the RSPB as a result.

Following the talk we had a very nice lunch of hot smoked salmon salad at the little cafe there and then moved on further down the peninsular to the Ardnamurchan Lighthouse at the the end – 140 steps to the top, adn then two step ladders and one cracked head to the lantern room. Seeing round the exhibition we see both old and new lanterns, and decide that, even with a range of 24 miles the new lantern just doesn’t have a patch on the old lantern with its cut glass lens.

Back at Loch Moidart the tide is at the highest we’ve seen it with the causeway to Castle Tioram all but underwater, and the river hight above the seaweed at the jetty. Allistari collects us in the (slightly delayed) 5 o’clock crossing and speeds us back at top speed with the wind rushing past our faces it is exhilerating.

Down near the jetty there is an old schoolhouse which is in the process of being turned into an artist’s colony. There is a stack of oldjunk and machine parts next door, and whilst I am taken by some old scales, Emma has an eye on an old enamual bath with feet. We return to our cottage where the fire is still burning and relax into the evening. I guess I should think about making dinner of sausage and mash…

I had one of those nice sort of days when I got to catch up writing my journal for the holiday – including also an account of our wedding day. I had the chance to dip between the current novel John Harwood’s The Seance, which after a quiet start is picking up pace with some quite chilling scenes; I also read some more of Monty Hall’s account of bothy life in Beachcomber Cottage.

Whilst Emma did some drawing in the afternoon I worked on the beginnings of my Mr Tumnal story. I’ve decided to write it long-hand, in ink in the nice leather notebook that Mum and Dad gave me for my birthday.

We had an early-ish dinner; our smoked kippers from Mallaig, lightly fried in butter and lemon juice with salad and tatties. After dinner we went out for short stroll down to, and around, the lilly pond; the lilly pond which actually is a sizeable damn which used to power the sawmill.

On the way back up to Red Cottage we see a red deer buck charge down out of the woods and across. Later in the evening we see Mr P. Martin once more (having already seen him for a spot of lunch earlier on).

The walk proved to be a 2½ mile one to the far end of the island and involved going up hill and down headland. We realised just how isolated the cottage at South Shore is (no wonder they have a separate Sunday start). Further on, and our target beach which kept on proving to be just ‘one more headland’ further on down a track of decreasing size and increasingly overgrown. Another cottage confuses us – we thought South Shore was the most isolated. Every little inlet has its own crofter’s ruin and its own fresh mountain stream.

Eventually we arrive at the beach of silver sand and rocky prometaries complete with rock pools. We waste no time in stripping down to our swimming costumes and entering the freezing but refeshing waters that our clear and turquoise.

Since we began our walk the tide has come in, and where once was a wide, double-sided beach, now there is water to paddle in, up to waist height. Whilst we are there, the couple from South Shore arrive but they cross the water to spend time in another cove. We see our first red deer – a doe – high up on the rocky prometary.

I struggle a bit on the walk home – but it is by then mid-afternoon and we have had no lunch. I think of bacon and mushroom oatcakes, and of an Alsager oatcake filled with Wesh goats cheese and Dower House chutney. The thought sustains me all the way home.

We have a leisurely end to the afternoon although we do both manage to do some washing and Emma succeeds in getting the fire lit to the point of hot coals that causes the hot water tank to gurgle and splutter in conversation with us.

We have dinner of haggis and tatties and then settle down to write our diaries. Whilst we are sitting, drinking whisky and writing, Mr P. Martin visits us again, quickly demolishing the peanuts we have offered him.

Back on shore we drive round the end of Loch Shiel to join the road to the isles, making first to the fishing port of Mallaig and last stop before the ferry to Skye. At Mallaig we buy fish from a small fishmongers next to the station (in a building that might have once part of the station).

From Mallaig we journey (in reverse) the famous Road to the Isles. First stop are the silver-sand beaches of Morar, where we pause to paddle. Then its on to Glenfinnen and a picnic lunch of smoked salmon rolls from the Mallaig fishmongers and Irn-Bru as a train crosses the famous Glenfinnen Viaduct. Seeing the train cross really does make you realise how big the viaduct is, even if sadly it is just a regular commuter train and not a glorious steam locomotive. There is also the monument to Bonny Prince Charlie, but I am less sure about this once I discover that its not even the original memorial, and they aren’t sure where that was.

Further down the Road to the Isles we stop at a town by the lochside to get one of the best views of Ben Nevis and its summit, set against blue sky and fluffy white clouds, and reflected in the clear blue waters. We watch as sailing yacht is let through one of the large locks at the southern end of the Caledonian Canal. Moving on a little further we see the greaness of Neptune’s Staircase – a series of 8 locks leading into the Great Glen. Having taken day boats out on our own Oxfordshire canal, the extent of engineering seen hereis awesome and incredible to even think about. And when we think of it all as a manual operation and the need for a crew of 12 lock keepers it is unbelievable.

We do complete our journey down the road by ending at the beginning in a quick loop around Fort William to see just how uninteresting a place it really is. And then we drive back down the road to the isles in the correct direction until we reach our turning for Loch Shiel, and Ackarackle and to our very own Castle Tioram to get the boat back across to our island. I am disappointed to discover that you cannot get into the castle.

Back at our little red-roofed cottage in the roof we put an egg out with the nuts tonight, and it is gone by morning, but sadly we see no more pine martins tonight.

We got up leisurely for our first morning on the island and had a quiet time just pottering around Red Cottage. I setled down outside and drew the cottage with the new pencils that Em got me for my birthday. We had lunch of Alsager oatcakes and a quiet early afternoon time of reading and sleeping before we headed out to climb ‘our’ mountain.

It took a couple of hours to reach the 265 ft summit. Sadly the red deer were off on some other part of the island but we did see two Rock Pippets and a couple of coppulating Oil Beetles. Winding our way home through the village we met the couple from White Cottage (who have found the glorious sandy beach) and we met the three black piggies at feeding time.

A pasta dinner tonight, but sadly no pine martins. It says in the visitor book, that deer sometimes come to the cottage at dusk. Still no red deer.

In the afternoon, Emma takes the wheel and drives us through the spectacular Glen Coe – nowhere near as forboding in clear blue sky and sunshine as it would be haunting in the cold, grey and rain – to the Corran Ferry, and from there a winding and beautiful journey through oak forests on the way to the Ardnamurchan Peninsular and the small community of Ackarackle. I say community because the collection of shops and houses does not feel like a village in the usual sense. We have a cup of tea at the Blue Parrot Post Office, shop and tea room before travelling the last couple of miles to get the boat onto the island.

Alistair – the island manager of just eight months – meets us and several other couples also going across and loas us into the tiny motorboat launch for the 10 minute crossing. His assistant Paul drives the quadbike and trailor with all our stuff on board up to our little cottage in the woods.

An old crofters and/or shepherd’s hut with a porch extension on one side and a bathroom extension on the other, it has a simple painted, wood-pannelled interior with a small coal burning stove.

On our first night on our tranquil island we are visited by a pine martin, who spends some time in front of our lounge window, scoffing the peanuts we put out especially to tempt him out of the woods.

From there we drive down the other side coasting on the clutch and break out of the cloud and into cloudless blue skies and sunshine. Ullswater proves to be a very long lake and takes us out of the steep mountains and into the lowland hills before we rejoin to the M6, pass Carlisle and leave both the Lake District and England behind us.

After about two and a half hours we enter the subhurbs of Glasgow via an increasing complexity of motorways – my first time driving in the big city. We find our hotel but also find that parking outside it for unloading purposes is impossible and so have to make our way from the fifth floor of the multi-story car park opposite, laiden like pack-horses with everything we have in the car (except for the two crates in the boot), to the eighth floor of the hotel.

Once in the room we avail ourselves of the air conditioner, lunch from our cool bag, and high speed internet access to look at wedding photos. As Emma takes an afternoon snooze, I download photos. Then we go out into the city in the late afternoon (but still sweltering heat) on part one of Emma’s Charles Renne Macintosh tour.

At the Lighthouse we start at the top with a viewing platform where we get a good view of the city skyline and of the chimney to the old Herald building – a grand thing itself which I mistake for the lighthouse itself. A few floors down and we find the exhibition about Macintosh and the entrance into The Lighthouse and the 135 spiral steps to the top and an even better view of the city.

We wander through the city centre in the early evening as the shops are shutting before seeking out an early dinner. ‘The Secret Garden’ in Merchant City proves to be not as tranquil in either temperature, volume or ambience as the name suggests. In the end we settle upon Cafe Gandalfi in the old cheese market – a red sandstone building with wood pannelling and chunky oak furniture. The Rough Guide recommends their black pudding so we have that, and follow it up with a seafood linguini that is delicious.

Still in early evening we head back to our hotel for an early night.

From Hill Top we had a leisurely walk down the hill to where Emma had had to park in the overflow car park by the lake. We drove back aroudn the far side of the lake, skirting at the edge of Grizedale Forest (and scene of another university jaunt) to Hawkshead.

We had lunch at Hawkshead’s Hawkshead before going to have a look round the Beatrix Potter gallery which is situated in William Heelis’ old solicitors offices. Walking back through the village we decide impromptu to visit the church. We were glad we did, not just because it was decidedly pretty but because, decending the hill a different way we came across a different way and discoveredd the old grammar school where William Wordsworth was schooled.

An excellent guide told us all about it and told us how the glass plate covering the ‘supposed’ grafitied signature of William Wordsworth is almost certainly a forgery – a spoilt I or J from John Wordsworth, his brother. William Wordsworth was a disinterested student, and a bit of a naughty lad, and would have almost certainly been placed in the corner just in the line of sight of the schoolmaster where he would have had to have climbed over 4 hulking boys to get out. Plus, there is a ‘WW’ inscribed into that heavily grafitied desk next to one by his best friend John Bird.

From Hawkshead we made our way to Grassmere via a pretty if windy and alarmingly steep back road, where we visited Dove Cottage and the Wordsworth museum. Our guide was a young girl/student, whom we were at first (whilst we were sitting in the parlour waiting) unsure about but she proved to be a real enthusiast, extremely knowledgable and passionate about the man, and about his sister, Dorothy.

A walk through the village, and a cup of tea by the river, we rounded off our trip by seeing the school where Dorothy and William taught, now the famous Grassmere Gingerbread Shop – where of course we purchased gingerbread.

Back in Ambleside we changed and headed back out for a walk around the town, time for quiet contemplation in the park before going for an excellent meal at ‘Lucy’s on a plate’. Lucy seems to be the Deiniol of Ambleside with a restaurant, wine bar (poised to go nationwide), quality grocers and catering business. The food was excellent and cheap, with humourous names. Emma had ‘I Spy Ribeye’ steak and I had a delicious portion of ‘Sweet Little Bambi’.

Back at the B&B we found an unsecured wireless network and hooked up for long enough to see some of – the brilliant – wedding photographs now posted by Phil on his website. The available internet connection is patchy though and so we decide to wait until we reach Glasgo to see them all.

Then we drove through the campus, and I was alarmed to discover that Woodiwiss East (and North, South, Bridge and West too) was no more – flattened to the ground – and we continued on my old 5-mile cycle ride along country lanes over, under, and over again, the M6 to Sandbach where I used to go shopping and we had our picnic lunch.

I took over the driving then, up the M6 through Manchester, uneventfully, and into the Lake District. Arriving at Windermere, we passed through it quite quickly and never really saw much of the lake as we drove north to find our B&B in Ambleside. Right in the centre of town we managed to get given free parking at the back as we were staying two nights. When Emma explained that it was the beginning of our honeymoon immediately upgraded our room to the family sized one at the front. Very nice.

OUr first night’s meal c/o of Lucy, was at the reccommended Priest’s Hole restaurant, and whilst our starters of prawns and potted shrimp were good, our main courses were not so good, and it was too hot in their to.

Our representative from Audley Travel was very good about it though. He’s cancelled our holiday as it is, but is going to try and hold as much of the deposits as he can for another year in case we can restart the holiday next year. It makes me feel better, that we will get to go on our new dream holiday.

Not that we don’t have a new dream holiday to plan. We’re going to head off to Scotland, probably the west coast or an island somewhere, somewhere nice and remote. And we will take our time about it, stopping off in The Lakes, Glasgow and Edinburgh on our way up and back. It’s going to be good.