The ferry wasn’t due for another hour, but a passing small cruiser meant the island had day trippers already wandering the village.

My hands were stained with blue paint, my glasses peppered with speckles as I brandished a roller brush to the ceiling of one of our camping pods. It’s a rare day when the booking sheet is empty and the sun is shining, and not one that can be taken for granted.

“Sorry, are you LifeOnRum?” a voice sounded from my right, and I jumped out of my skin. I hadn’t noticed the lady walking up to the cabin, totally lost in my own thoughts, and her voice broke through the faint sound of waves lapping on the nearby rocks.

She’d been following my Instagram for a while, she said, and loved to escape into this island through my videos and pictures. I can’t say I’m used to it yet, people knowing who I am on this wee island out west.

Since the season began, and particularly since I returned from maternity leave, I must meet around a dozen people each week that recognise me from this column or my social media. I laughed it off with her, suddenly aware of the state of me - hair scraped back, flecks of paint on my cheeks, and the faint smell of bleach in the air from where I’d cleaned the hostel bathrooms not an........

© Herald Scotland