It’s five o’clock, and my husband, his brother and stepfather have just traipsed into the Bunkhouse. Their boots have been thrown off their weary feet almost immediately, and their bags have been dropped where they stand.

They’ve spent the day down at Harris on the Isle of Rum - a beautiful stretch of land to the south west, home to the famous Bullough mausoleum, an old hunting lodge and a hoard of highland cows and wild ponies. It’s a 18km walk in total; the idea was pitched during dinner the night before, and the 9am takeoff didn’t have many takers. But for the three of them, it was set in stone.

The boys have returned with a glow to them. In my husband’s case, it has gotten angrier with every second since, and has turned into the most horrific sunburn and prickly heat. The locals have already ribbed him for succumbing to the first sunny day of the season, even though temperatures only reached 13 degrees. But still, he too has a shine on his face and a smile stretching for days.

“This place is just magical, isn’t it?” my father-in-law continued. He told me about the jagged mountains, and the sea eagles they’d seen soaring in the........

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