It feels a little odd to wake alone, I’ve already become accustomed to having Evan wrapped around me and miss his solidity and warmth. It’s also a little strange to wake on a ship that is still in motion, but we’ve steamed through the night to get an early morning view of the isolated lighthouse – now automated – on the rocky outcrop of North Rona.

No matter how much I might enjoy spending time on my own, I can’t imagine being a lighthouse keeper and spending weeks, or even months, with just a couple of mates on this truly remote and isolated outcrop.

Winter storms, with great waves breaking over the rocky shore would be truly terrifying. It’s even harder to believe that people used to live here year-round to tend the flocks of sheep that graze the desolate slopes.

The ship slips past the Island on the way south, scheduled to arrive in the harbour of Stornoway, capital of the Outer Hebrides just before noon. I grab a few photos from the relative comfort of my balcony, but there’s a strong breeze blowing from the west, making the sea choppy and the air cool.

When I make it to the dining room Evan is already there and stands to greet me with a tight hug and a kiss that threatens to be unsuitable for public viewing.

“Good morning to you too,” I manage as I sit and try to hide my slight blush. “I take it that you missed me?”

“Hmm… Maybe not our greatest idea. I did get the second video finished and uploaded though.”

“Oh, good. I managed to speak to my mum. She’s her usual cheery self, moaning about anything and everything. She did seem genuinely interested in hearing about you, though. I sent her a link to the first video.”

“Well, I spoke to Dad as well. He does sound a little under-the-weather, but insists it’s just a cold. I ended up spending a couple of hours helping him with the comments on YouTube. More views and subscribers are a blessing and a curse in equal measure.”

“But you’re keeping on top of it?”

“Oh, yes. I could just let it run wild if I wanted too. There’re no real rules, but I don’t want too much negative stuff and there’s always quite a bit of advertising and scamming spam to crack down on.”

“I’ve seen how big a problem that can be. Are there any signs of it getting better?”

“Well, YouTube are working on it all the time and it does seem to be helping. I now only have to deal with a few dozen on each video, not thousands.”

“I suppose it is just another one of the things people tend to overlook. All the average person sees is the millionaire YouTuber, raking in advertising and sponsorship cash without a care in the world. It’s really not like that, is it?”

“No, very definitely not. I have to work really hard all the time, just to keep on top of things. If I stop posting on the usual cycle, I risk everything collapsing and never recovering. I don’t know what I’d do without Dad doing some of the basic admin stuff for me. On that subject, he did say that we’ve had a couple of sponsorship offers on the back of the recent successes.”

“Oh, that’s really good, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I think it might be. I have to decide if I want to support the products. I’m not falling into the trap of advertising any old VPN service or online game, but a couple of things related to travel money management and the like don’t sound too bad.”

“Okay, what sort of things then?”

“Well, short-term prepaid debit cards, foreign exchange services and worldwide mobile data plans for your phone all seem reasonable enough. I can work them into the videos easily as well. I’m not doing anything for this trip, but maybe the next one, wherever that takes me.” Evan seems to be thoughtful for a moment and pauses to butter some more toast. “I haven’t even thought about where to go next. I can always do a quick city break almost anywhere at short notice.”

“Well, I’m going to be busy, apparently. I’ve had a couple of emails from clients with pretty insistent offers of fairly urgent work that I will need to start the moment I get home.”

“Busy for how long? Days, weeks, months?”

“Oh, not months. Each analysis usually takes me a few days to get completed on the computer side and then another day to write up the reports and any recommendations. Sometimes there’ll need to be a bit of back-and-forth with the original programmer if I spot anything I’m not sure is right.”

“Are all the programmers also local?”

“Oh, no. They seem to be all over the world. America, India, Australia, pretty much anywhere. Fortunately, they mostly have good email English and we can understand each other. Companies seem to find it easy to get a programmer from wherever they can, just relying on me to check everything over locally.”

“Well, is sounds like we will both be busy for a while when we get back. It might be a struggle to keep in touch.”

“I didn’t want to come on this cruise, and now I don’t want it to end.” I reach my hand across the table and Evan takes a firm hold, squeezing tightly.

“We’re not coming to an end, love. Only this part of our journey.”

“I know. It’s just going to be hard to be apart. One night was bad enough. I’m not convinced that I like being in love very much!”

I’m still not sure how I can go from being happy to be on my own to being afraid of it in just a couple of days, but that does seem to be the very definition of the human condition. I can sense that Evan can feel it too. He has that concerned look on his face that I’m becoming so used to seeing whenever I sound a little low.

“Adam, stop being so down. Come on, let’s go and spend the morning on deck watching the world go past.”

“It might be too cold.”

“Well, we can huddle together.”

“Yes, that might work.”

Apparently, Stornoway is going to get a fancy new deep-water quay for visiting cruise ships, but it’s not ready yet and we have to be tendered ashore once more. We’ve decided to skip the walk around town this afternoon, preferring a few hours on the coach to get a better feel for the countryside and the history of the island of Lewis and Harris.

I’ve made Evan promise that we’re not buying any tweed, but we are allowed to look at ancient standing stones, rugged shorelines, sandy beaches and the inevitable lochs. The drive north to the Butt of Lewis takes about an hour and the landscape is a mixture of rolling grassy moorland and boggy depressions with a scattering of more open water. 

Evan and I walk the mile or so to the lighthouse so I can take some photos and we do a little bit of video while Evan talks to camera about the ruggedness of the landscape and the tenuous nature of life as a crofter on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean.

Further south, the landscape becomes more like the highlands, hills and glens with shallow lochs and far fewer settlements and crofts. It’s all much more dramatic, but the absence of trees is a little disconcerting to someone who comes from a wooded Island.

All these outer isles do seem to have much in common, both in their landscapes and their loneliness. Evan seems pretty philosophical about it as we are driven back towards Stornoway.

“They are hard places to live,” he tells me. “Even today many small crofters would starve without government assistance and grants. The Hebrides in particular are still very traditional in many ways.”

“What ways?”

“Well, more than half the population speak Gaelic and most of them still take the church pretty seriously. No working and no pubs on a Sunday, for example.”

“The Isle of Man was a bit like that not too long ago. I imagine they don’t have an annual pride parade here?”

“No, actually they do, but there are usually more religious protesters than participants. No violence, just open homophobia and expressions of disgust.”

“So, we’re not holding hands or kissing as we walk back to the tenders then?”

“No, I don’t think I want that sort of publicity. I’ve never felt the need to be militant. I’m gay and that’s that.”

“Yes, me too. Did you know that the Isle of Man is considered one of the best places in the world to be queer?”

“No, how do they decide that?”

“Well, we edge ahead of some larger countries because we are pretty safe overall. We have total equality, same-sex marriage, accepting people and a generally safe place for everyone. The UK already does very well, but we’re a little bit better than they are. Sounds like this part of the world is still a little bit behind the curve. Probably not as bad as some parts of Africa though.”

“Yes, but the younger community, when they stay at all, are more accepting and understanding. The Islands all seem to suffer from the kids going off to university and never coming back.”

“Oh yes, the Isle of Man is a lot like that as well. Many of my friends who went away to study didn’t return. It made me feel a little more out of place when I bucked that trend. Well, they haven’t come back yet. Most of them will probably choose to retire back home though.”

“Do you think it changes the way it feels to live there?”

“Maybe, but, in the end, I think it just makes the whole place seem a little more relaxed. Mind you, that might just be the Isle of Man in general.”

“In what way?”

“Well, our unofficial – very unofficial – national saying is ‘Traa-dy-liooar’, it literally means ‘time enough’ in Gaelic. I always think of it as our own version of the Spanish ‘Mañana’. You know, why do it today when you can do it tomorrow? We often use it to describe someone.”

“You mean you’re all lazy?” Evan asks with a grin.

“No, just very good at planning ahead so we don’t have to work too hard!” I reply with a laugh. “It’s a quirky place with a long history and some weird traditions, but I love being Manx and love living there.”

“Weird traditions?”

“Well, weird because they aren’t as old as people make them out to be sometimes, but deeply ingrained. We believe in fairies – the little people – and, by tradition, greet them at the bridge that, according to legend at least, they live under. The belief in the little people is very old, but the tradition of greeting them is a tourist thing invented by the Victorians. Also, we never use the ‘R’ word when talking about long-tailed rodents.”

“Long-tailed rodents. You mean rats.”

“Yeah, but I really would rather you didn’t say it,” I tell him with a slight shudder. “That one is pretty deeply embedded for me and society as a whole. My late grandfather was pretty traditional. I got a clip around the ear the first time he heard me say it. I’ve never done it since and, weirdly, it makes me flinch.”

“Yes, okay. That is a bit weird. I’ll try and remember about the rodent thing. What can I call them instead?” Evan seems to think it’s all pretty funny, but it isn’t, or at least not to the Manx.

“Well, long-tail is the most accepted. Granddad always used to call them queer-fellas, but that’s possibly not so politically correct nowadays. Jiggler or ringie are both quite common. It really is taken quite seriously. The radio stations won’t use the word and neither will the newspapers.”

“Adam, you really love the place, don’t you.”

“Yes, of course I do. It’s home.”

“Have you ever thought about living somewhere else? I’m not convinced that I’ll always be happy where I am now in Manchester, but it’s not too bad.”

“Not really. I have my family and my work. Who knows where the future leads any of us, but for now I’m very glad I live where I do.”

When I glance across at Evan, I can see that he’s a little contemplative. “I’m also very happy to be here right now,” I whisper as I squeeze his hand lightly.