We decided to run; with news of the devastation being caused by Ophelia in SW IReland, we headed off up the A9 with a tail wind and greyness. Fife was (thankfully) shrouded in mist, Perthshire offered pockets of golden trees between the showers, The Black Isle was - more grey than black, Tain had the weirdest sky as we swept through Asda for petrol and crisps and on the border from Sutherland to Caithness it went from an OK autumn day to hell right on the dotted line.

We made Wick in good time; scurried about the allies and closes and had the ubiquitous fish and chips and then in gathering gloom wove our way up the last 20 miles in near darkness.

Sitting in the queue for the ferry, we could see the sea spray whipping across under the floodlights, driven by the rising wind.

The crossing was predicatably choppy for the first half and slightly behind schedule we landed in the Hope; up the hill in 4 minutes and unloaded, made beds, lit the stove and poured whisky. It was good to get in. After a long demanding drive, I nearly nodded off on the ferry. As captured by Zander... Such a sweet child, to provide memories for me to look back on as I battle the middle ground between chucking and sleeping...