PATRICK GRANT

Mull is where, without embarrassing my mother, my life began.

It’s a beautiful place. It’s only a few hours’ drive and a ferry. All the family, my sister and me and the dogs would be piled into the car at our home in Edinburgh, along with camping equipment, and we trundled through the Trossachs, amazing in itself, to get there. If you fly to Majorca, it doesn’t feel like you’re on an island much, but going to Mull, you feel like it’s an adventure from the

moment you get on the ferry. On a sunny day the dolphins will follow the ship and jump through its wake. I still visit once every couple of years and it hasn’t changed.

Time slows down in the Hebrides. It’s a magical landscape and when the sun shines there’s nowhere on Earth that’s as stunning. It never gets that hot; in the summer a really hot day would be 20C (68F), but the beaches are empty. You can be on a mile of white sand.

Rock-pooling was my thing. I loved being in the water, scooping hermit crabs out of rock pools. I’ve seen sea otters, and all sorts of bird life, and thousands of seals. If you go out on a little boat you won’t fail to see seals loafing about. The whole thing felt like a Famous Five adventure or Tintin’s Black Island, with ruined old castles and shipwrecks on the beach.

My nephews now love it. They’re both wildlife fans and the pastel shades of Tobermory are such fun for kids; it also happens to be where Balamory is filmed. I’ve just come back from camping in the Lakes and it’s easy to forget how spectacular the scenery is on our doorstep. Way back, my dad’s family were hill farmers and I think there must be something genetic about being in that scenery, despite the occasional bad weather.