Isla the masseuse arrived on Monday afternoon, on a ferry that had caught the wind just right and had made it into port early. I, however, was running late. I’d spent the last half hour making my house vaguely presentable - cats out, rug vacuumed, toys ushered in an organised chaos. This was, after all, my first ever official “baby class” while living on the Isle of Rum.

I imagine that, had I been on the mainland, a baby massage class like this would’ve perhaps taken place in a community centre or studio, with some mats laid out on the floor and a dozen or so parents and babies in attendance and prams lining the walls. Here, it looked a little different.

My weekly shop from the Co-op had arrived on the same boat, and so as I introduced myself to the masseuse, I was also juggling mismatched boxes of vegetables and kitchen roll and milk into the back of my car, squeezing it in tight beside my guest’s belongings.

“Sorry for this,” I remember saying. “The minutes after the ferry arrives can be a bit of a juggling act.”

I’ll never again take for granted the act of having a cup of tea and a slice of cake

Out here on Rum, a granny’s visit is special

Living on a Scottish island has taught me you........

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