I was never going to make it out of bed in time to go for breakfast. My sleep patterns are a total disaster, a combination of a long day yesterday, more alcohol than I normally have and probably a bit of lingering depression.

The depression is just something that hopefully will get better, now I’m away from the triggers and have a chance to concentrate on something that I like doing. I had some therapy sessions a few years ago and I’m pretty good at knowing when I’m starting to slip and usually have time to react accordingly. I’m aware that I’m not exactly heartbroken by the way Peter treated me, but I do feel more than a little out of sorts.

I’m on the balcony almost as soon as I stagger onto my feet, camera in hand to capture the scenery as we make our way north past the island of Islay, on our way to steam past Fingal’s Cave. I need to be up on deck to make the best of that, so I dash for a shower and brush my teeth. The day is a little cooler than yesterday, so I add a thick sweater to my ensemble.

By mid-morning, not actually all that long after my late emergence from my cabin, we pass the Isle of Mull to starboard and the barren islet of Staffa appears off our port side, rocky cliffs rising more than 100 feet into the sky, scarred by multiple sea-cave entrances, of which the famous Fingal’s Cave is just one.

The huge basalt columns are capped by a different rock, allowing the deep caves to form from the actions of the turbulent sea. Columns of rock weather and collapse while the capping rock remains as a roof for the caves. I’d love to get some close-up shots from low down on the water, but I’ll have to come back one day in a very much smaller boat to do that. This time I’ll have to content myself with making the best of the 150-450mm lens I’m carrying.

Most passengers are making do with their phones as cameras and I feel a little out of place, until I spot Evan approaching with a pretty large mirrorless camera on a compact tripod.

“Good morning, Adam,” he greets me jovially as he approaches. “You’re a bit late for breakfast.”

“I always knew I would be. One meal missed on a trip like this won’t do me any harm. I had a long day yesterday. Travelling from the Island meant getting up for the ferry at six.”

“Ferry, where are you from?”

“The Isle of Man. I live and work in Douglas, the capital.”

“Oh, it’s on my list of places to visit. I’ve been doing the crown dependencies and it’s the only one left to do.”

“Yes, I saw the three Channel Island episodes last night. You’re very good at your job by the way.”

“Thank you. I put a lot of work into them.”

“So, you’re working this morning? Getting some scenic shots for b-roll?”

“Oh, you know all the technical jargon. Well, yes, but I can’t match the reach of that absolute bazooka you’re toting around.”

“I bought it for wildlife, but from this platform it does quite well for scenery in a pinch.”

“You’ll have to show me some wildlife stuff later. You do have some shots with you, don’t you? Also, maybe I can borrow a couple of stills from you, of the caves?”

“Yes, there are thousands of them on my laptop. I don’t need them to be there, but I do use it as a backup device when I travel and then never remember to remove them. I often end up making a more curated list on the flight back and that stays there as well. As for this trip, you’re welcome to any stills you might need.”

“Thanks, I really might have to take a few from you. I often fail to have enough background stuff.”

“I assume you’re not quite at the point where you have a staff then? No cameraman obviously, but do you edit all your videos yourself? And all the graphics and stuff?”

“Yes. I like the creative control, but also, as you surmise, I’m not quite big enough to have a dedicated production team. I do the travelling and my dad, who’s a retired accountant, deals with the sponsorship requests and polices the comments.”

“I never even thought about the comments. I guess most viewers don’t even look at them. Do you get many bad ones then?” I ask him.

“No, not really, just the odd troll who can’t resist pushing the limits of friendly debate.”

Trolls – whether related to Peter or not – are something I can understand. “One of the reasons I don’t really do social media. I have a Facebook account, but almost never post anything.”

“Well, maybe you should. It’s a better way to make new friends than being on this floating retirement home.” Evan glances around us at the mostly retired clientele.

“Actually, it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. Sure, most people are quite a few years older than we are, but not dramatically so. I bet most of them aren’t even retired. Just old enough to be free from their children and enjoying themselves.” As far as I can see, most of our fellow passengers are in their middle to late fifties and just look like they are savouring the hard-earned rewards for working hard and raising families.

“So, we’re the ones who are out-of-place here?”

“Evan, I’ve been the odd-one-out all my adult life. You get used to it pretty quickly.”

“That seems to be that for Staffa,” Evan remarks as the tone of the engines change and we turn back towards the south. “Where are we going next? I’ve barely looked at the detail of the itinerary.”

“Back around Mull and then north again through the Sound. That should be quite dramatic, it’s quite narrow. Then onwards to the north, along the south and west coasts of Skye and on round to Portree. I believe we anchor there at some point overnight for excursions tomorrow.”

“Much to see on the way?”

“Yes, if you like dramatic mountains plunging to the sea. The Cuillins along the coast of Skye should be magnificent, but they’re a couple of hours away at least. I’ve seen photos from the land, but the views from the sea should be every bit as good and the sun will be getting towards the right direction by the time we get there.”

“Lunch then?”

“Sure, I could demolish a burger. Maybe the bar will seem less formal than going down to the dining room.”