I F you’ve ever taken a ferry out to the Small Isles, you’ll likely know the community I’m talking about. The port staff that print your tickets; the canteen crew that serve up your CalMac and Cheese; the captain who steadily steers you to your destination. The people that begin your island journey, and see you off at the end.

When I lived in Glasgow, I made a point, like most people do, of avoiding all interaction while on public transport. I’d say ‘hello’ and ‘thanks’ to the bus driver, give a small smile to anyone who made eye contact with me, but often pick an empty seat, plug my earphones in and very much hope no one sat next to me. And the same can be said for my time on ferries, too. I’ve been on a bunch of boats before, but as a tourist rather than a resident.

Even when I lived on the Isle of Arran for a few summer months during my first year at university, I still felt like a tiny visitor on the massive boat, preferring to take a solo seat outside on the red foldout chairs, or hole myself up in the cafe with a........

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