You just can’t beat north-west Scotland
Ithink you always remember your first big holiday and I recall so much about the first time I went abroad.
I was nine years old and we went to Gran Canaria.
I remember clearly the volcanic landscape and eating paella for the first time. That’s what sticks in my mind. We were staying on my step-uncle’s boat, all crammed in and sleeping head to toe.
The place I think I’ve probably visited most often is Malaga – this is where I often go to write.
It’s a self-catering place in this little village in the mountains, down a windy road. Once you get there, it’s just perfect for peace and quiet. All you really hear is the rustling of the leaves and can watch birds of prey circling in the sky.
Most of my book was written there and the rest penned at the place I’ve visited almost as often.
That’s Achiltibuie – the first time was back in 2002.
I’ve a dear friend whose partner fled South Africa back in the 1970s because of problems due to his being of mixed race.
He ended up – and I know it’s a long way – in Achiltibuie and I’ve been there many-a-time since to see them both.
That first time was at New Year and we took the sleeper train from London and then drove.
On the way, this big stag suddenly appeared in the road in front of us. The thing just stood there staring, refusing to move.
It was like that scene in The Queen where Helen Mirren is faced by the stag.
It was only the start of a wonderful time that led me back over and over again.
We went out first-footing, being introduced to all these people. Every time I go I eat like a king. Over my career I lived in Japan and Austria and France and spent a lot of time in America and Africa.
I’ve always had a bit of wanderlust and a curiosity about people and places which I hope will never leave me.