What I wouldn’t do right now for a kebab. Not even just the kebab, mind you. The shredded cabbage salad, the pink sauce, the slightly damp polystyrene container that feels both hot and cold at the same time - the whole lot.

It’s funny, the things that creep up on you when you move to a wee island. I thought perhaps I’d achingly miss family and friends, but really, it’s the idea of a takeaway that’s on the brain more often than not. You aren’t allowed to say certain words here, in fear of triggering the stomachs of hungry locals who haven’t had a chippy in months.

I see they’ve introduced drones for medical supplies on some of the other isles - might I suggest a similar service for an equally vital delivery, like a chicken tikka chasni or a chow mein? Would a 12 inch pizza box be a touch too large for express shipping?

Moving here has made us realise just how much we relied on our once-a-week takeaway treat, which would more often than not turn into a twice-weekly when the weather was bad, or sometimes stretching to a thrice-weekly if one of us was feeling ever so slightly sick. I’m sure when we moved away, our local Glasgow........

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