I’m sitting decked out in waterproofs, my freshly washed hair now covered in sea spray and rain, with wet socks from a recent hole in my favourite wellies. And I’m waiting with baited breath to see if our ferries will run today.

Gusts are reaching almost 50 miles per hour - when I used to watch the weather after the news with my dad, the numbers and lines on screen always washed over my head. I was only interested in the place names on show, and the elation whenever my tiny town got a mention. But now, my interest in the forecast is much stronger. I know that the direction the boats tend to favour, and that the timetable becomes precarious when speeds surpass 35mph. And I know never to leave the house without a jacket.

I’m on Bunkhouse duty today, and we’ve had a wonderful group staying with us for the last five days. I came in to start my shift two days ago to find that they’d mopped the hallway floors before 8am, and they were already sweating onions for a delicious soup, ready to be plated at midday for the weary hikers on their way back from an overnight at........

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