Over the Sea to Skye

It was the langoustines that tipped the balance for his Lordshop; that and the fact that he had left his expensive history magazine on the train.

For a man in the throes of hunger, a plate with ten of the largest freshest langoustines that had ever seen dry land, but complete with body armour and wicked pincers and delivered with an assortment of ironmongery for retrieving flesh, was the last straw.
He wanted food fast, without having to work hard with little reward and this choice had been a huge mistake.

I will draw a veil over the reaction to his disappointment as I enjoyed my freshly caught scallops wrapped in pancetta.

However it's another day, and we've sailed across the sea to Skye under louring, threatening clouds to Armadale and thence by bus to Broadford where the rain is heavy and incessant.
This is the Skye of my memories and has its own appeal in a masochistic way.
Only once in my visits to the island have I ever seen the Cuillin, but today nothing higher than 100 feet is visible through the mist and rain

We have sought refuge in a cafe with tea and shortbread while we watch stair rods of water drumming into huge puddles, and wonder how far we can walk without getting totally soaked.

We discovered that it wasn't very far, so we have admitted defeat and sailed back to Mallaig and a pub with an open fire to have a hot drink and watch the steam rising from our clothes.