I stay up for a while, but the Northern Lights do not put in an appearance.

I have a very good night’s sleep. During the morning ablutions, I note that the windows in the bath are half frosted so that I can see out while my more personal regions are covered by the frosting. While wondering how this works for women, I turn around to see a full length mirror opposite me, so someone stood outside can get a full view anyway! However, we are in the middle of nowhere, so the chances of a random passer-by are remote – much like this location!

Yesterday’s clear skies have been replaced with a grey miasma that looks as though someone has forgotten to turn the sky on. I check the weather report and it says that it’s going to be cloudy all day with some rain this evening – that sounds pretty good to me. The journey to Ullapool has several potential stopping points along the way: Kylesku Bridge, Weeding Widow Falls, Clashnessie, Clachtoll, Lochinver (which an apparently amazing pie shop), Loch Assynt, Knockan Crag and Rhue Lighthouse. Or whatever I feel like stopping at!

The lady I was talking to yesterday (Caitlin) has kindly left out some books so I can re-check where I’m going today. They also show me how much I’ve missed. The area I’ve just travelled through is referred to as the Lonely Lands – which is an excellent description.

Breakfast is amazing. Susan keeps offering more food, which I steadfastly resist. The homemade bread is particularly good and I’m genuinely surprised when she tells me it came from a bread-maker.

All things considered, my first trip to an AirBnB has been very good indeed.

Although it’s not actually raining, there is a lot of water in the air. As a result, it feels as though I’m driving through rain. I stop off at Kylesku bridge, which is suitable impressive. I reckon the views here would be excellent normally, but today the clouds are very low. Despite the lack of rain, I’m distinctly moist after I’ve checked out the War Memorial and returned to the car.

As I drive on, the weather decides it’s bored and starts to actually rain. As a result, I decide not to make the trek to the Wailing Widow Waterfall. As I drive past, I chuckle at the sight of a line of bedraggled people in waterproofs who are heading up to it and look suitably miserable.

The road down to Drumbeg is a single track road which is sign-posted as unsuitable for coaches, caravans and (the implication is) motor-homes. The driving is all the excitement of yesterday, but with shorter sight lines and much steeper roads. Part of the time the road is halfway up a cliff, so it’s very important that everyone drives sensibly. I’m following a car through and keeping it 2 passing places ahead as previously. It’s all going very smoothly until we meet three motor homes driving in convoy. They completely block the road and drive along with the sort of vacuous expression usually reserved for deer staring into the headlights of an oncoming car.

There are a surprisingly large amount of cyclists around today and I keep stopping to let them by. Most are extremely polite despite clearly being both wet and knackered. Several swan past as though this is their right and can’t be bothered to even nod. I lump them in the same box as the motor-home drivers.

The road continues, one particularly steep ascent with a warning “Slow. Blind Summit.” Wait a second, I’ve had loads of summits with no view. This one is more like the peak of a rollercoaster and as there is nothing coming up the road towards me, I can descend appropriately. WAHOO!

The roads on the approach to Clashnessie beach seem even narrower as there is a rockwall on the sea side and a cliff on the other. Luckily, I only meet one motorbike and a single cyclist who manfully pedals up the hill as I wait. The beach is very windswept, so I don’t pause here for very long.

The situation is similar at Clachtoll beach where the amount of water in the air encourages me to drive on to Lochinver. I clearly manage to get to the next level of the NC500 Driving Game as the normal hazards of the road are now joined by dozens of sheep. They act exactly as expected – slow to wander off the road, but fast to suddenly decide they want to plunge across the road 6” in front of the car. I pass the Sheep Level and end up on a steep descent following two cyclists. I’m actually quite happy to slowly follow them down, but one spots me and they very politely pull in to a passing space and let me go by. As I get clear of them, I come across a stream of motorbikes from the south. I pull in and they all wave politely as they pass – except the last one. Maybe they feel that I’ve been thanked enough.

I head into Lochinver and go to the renowned Lochinver Larder – which is closed because it’s a Sunday (which goes some way to explain the horde of cyclists out and about today). It’s probably just as well, as I’m not exactly hungry yet. There is a bookshop next door which is rather pathetically stocked, although I pick up a book on rural walking.

I press on to Loch Assynt and Ardvreck Castle. It is still very moist, though still just short of raining. I tramp down to the castle and make a highly sarcastic video, narrated in a comedy Scottish accent. This raises a few eyebrows and I hurry back to the car. Then my eyebrows are raised as I encounter a woman struggling to get a pushchair down this narrow earth path. I don’t rush to assist her as the pushchair contains two corgis – clearly she is making her own cross to bear.

Today, Susan recommended two places to eat to me: the Lochinver Larder and the Elphim Tea Rooms. The Elphim Tea Rooms are sat on the side of a narrow valley and by the time I get there, the weather has closed in and it is decidedly chilly. I tell the staff that Susan recommended them and once I confirm who she is, they nod sagely. Hopefully she will get good things back from them.

The tea rooms are quite crowded and I briefly feel guilty at taking up a 4 person table. Not sufficiently for me to offer to share as half the people here are from motor-homes, so they could always go and sit in them.

I order Bacon and Lentil Soup with bread and Lime and Polenta Cake. The soup is a bit bland, but hot and hearty. The cake is lovely.

I head on to Ullapool, making a single stop at the Rhue Lighthouse. It’s a nice (if blustery) walk down to the lighthouse but as the weather seems to have improved, it’s worth doing. There are very few other people doing the same and it really gives a sense of how quiet and lonely this place can be.

In Ullapool, I am staying at the Ferry Boat Inn, which is on the seafront. I manage to snag a parking space virtually directly outside and prepare to use my parallel parking skills in the sight of a large audience. To my relief, I slide the car straight in on the first attempt and mentally I congratulate myself (“Well done, Reginald Molehusband”. For those of you who do not understand the reference, he was the subject of a public information film in the 1970s on how to parallel park. And, for some reason, it has stayed with me.)

The view is amazing and, to my relief, the parking is free because it’s a Sunday.

I head into the Ferry Boat Inn (or FBI as they cleverly call it) and I sit down while the somewhat harassed staff serve other people. I’m sat not far from a man that the staff refer to as The Gerbil

(and do so sufficiently loudly that I and several other patrons pick up on it). He is a type of person that I recognise from other pubs. He inhabits a stool by the bar, knows everything and “helps” the staff out. One of the staff hides every time she is alone with him, the other has a fake smile on her face normally only seen in selfies of those women who have made their faces look like plastic. By the time I finish my pint of cider, his help has included:

· Giving people menus when the kitchens are already closed;

· Loudly discussing the fact that the pub has increased prices by 20p per pint – and there wasn’t even a budget!

The staff look extremely relieved when he wanders off, as do several tables of confused foreign tourists (which includes the German couple that I met at the distillery in Wick).

Food is served here and, despite the somewhat dishevelled appearance of the FBI, it comes with a good dose of pretension: a twice baked oyster soufflé and a cranachan terrine are both on offer at ridiculous prices. I decide to avoid it and eagerly await my continental breakfast in the morning.

I climb the narrow stairs and find my meagre room.

The window is stuck ajar – so it’s a good job that it isn’t too cold. My back is really acting up, so when I go to make a coffee and find there is no milk, rather then heading downstairs to the lugubrious staff, I decide to make do. I prop myself up, take some painkillers and wait for it to wear off. It’s happened pretty much the same every evening – it seems fine, then when I relax at the end of the day it decides to have a fit. If it goes as usual, I should be fine in a couple of hours. Until then – black coffee 😦

To add insult to injury, there’s only one pillow. Good grief! It’s like living in the Dark Ages. I blame people in little boats…