With the sun slipping down slightly towards the western horizon, the views along the south coast of Skye are truly spectacular. The Cuillins are not the highest peaks in the highlands, but they are still a spectacular sight, rising more than 3000 feet steeply from the sea into rocky towering pinnacles and precipitous ridges. In many ways they are more rugged and rocky than most of the other mountains in the highlands.

Evan has vanished into the milling crowd; no doubt having found a suitable spot to set up his camera and record some stunning footage. I manage to get myself a spot by the rail, but I could have done just as well from my balcony for this stretch of coastline, as it is on the starboard side.

The whole day seems to have passed in a flash and I haven’t had a single thought about Peter until I’m getting ready for dinner. He always hated when I went to Africa. I sensed a bit of latent racism, but more a fear of the unknown and, probably, a worry that he wouldn’t be able to satisfy his particular cravings in a strange land. He also kept muttering about how homophobic some of the countries I was interested in visiting were and in that I could perhaps see his point.

I never understood what he saw in the drugs, but how much of that was just my ignorant abstinence, who can say. He learned to hide his consumption from me, but I knew he was still using and turned a blind eye because I thought I loved him.

Cannabis, I could almost deal with, as the effects on him were mild and bearable, but once he started to use cocaine, I occasionally saw a different side of him and I didn’t like it. Maybe that’s one of the reasons he had for cheating on me? It wasn’t a lack of sex. Perhaps he just needed someone more like him. A borderline addict with a fondness for alcohol and an aversion to doing any form of hard work.

Evan seemed quite different. Both thoughtful and interested in my travels. I’d need to take some time to talk to him about his own travels and what he thought of the places he had visited.

I should also offer to help him arrange a trip to Africa for himself, if he really wants to go. It really sounds like he might enjoy the experience and he really wouldn’t be afraid once he got there. Looking back on my own travels, I’d probably been pretty scared the first time I went out into the bush as well.

Someone once told me they’d been to a safari park – Longleat I think – and that they therefore knew all about the whole safari experience. Maybe Evan is right about me being passionate about the subject, as I soon had to put them firmly in their place. The only thing a safari park has in common with a true safari in Africa is that one word.

Then there are the people who tell me that they can see it all better on the television. The BBC may now be an organisation of dubious character and somewhat confused standards, but it probably still leads the world in the breadth and quality of its Natural History film-making. What the viewers often forget – and the BBC has gone to considerable lengths in recent years to give a glimpse behind the scenes to address this – is that someone still has to do the work. Every minute of footage is backed by hours, days or even weeks of patience.

Then, of course, there is everything that the television cannot provide. You don’t get the same rush of adrenaline or have a fight-or-flight reflex from watching a screen, no matter how good the picture quality. The camera focuses on the subject and that often misses the surroundings and the reactions of the world around you.

I had briefly mentioned to Evan that I had walked in the bush in Kenya. At first I was terrified, but you soon come to realize that the people around you, the local guides and inhabitants have to do it every day of their lives. On the same trip, walking along a riverbank with my friends, we encountered a hippo. They are rightly considered dangerous, and our two guards – called that even thought they were unarmed – really were caught by surprise.

Now, the hippo was in the water, but standing only ankle-deep and just a few metres from the five of us. One’s natural first though is to get away from the danger as quickly as possible, but that is clearly not the right approach to take in a situation like this. We sensibly smiled at the hippo and quietly continued on our way.

By all means, enjoy your wildlife in any way that you can, but don’t do reality the disservice of comparing it to the televisual experience or that of visiting a zoo, no matter how big and open a zoo it is. I’m happy to talk about my experiences on any occasion, but don’t tell me you know what it’s like if you’ve never been.