In October 2016, I had planned to go to Andalucia to bask in the sun, thrilled to still be a part of the EU. A few days prior to the vote, I reasoned that in case of emergency, a plan B (B for Brexit, B for Britain) should be made. So, the people revolted and Brexit means Brexit.

As the pound plunged, we swapped Andalucia for the Scottish highlands and it is the only good thing about the shambles thus far. We started in the superb city of Glasgow and travelled to the village of Staffin on Skye. The journey was a greatest hits package that any country would be proud of.

Scotland is a country that punches above its weight, or to give it the correct term, gives a Glasgow kiss above its weight. It is home to just over 5 million people, but the roll call of Scottish fame is intimidating. Sir Alexander Fleming invented penicillin, which is great even if I am allergic to it. Sport is represented by Andy Murray and the thighs of Chris Hoy. The otherworldly Tilda Swinton and the people’s James Bond come from there. There’s the inventiveness of the country, from adhesive postage stamps, Dolly the cloned sheep, TV to the flushing toilet. And breakfast would be poorer if a Scot hadn’t turned bitter Seville oranges into marmalade.

Another star is the Scottish landscape, when autumn is a painter’s palette come to life. The grey mountain tops are scattered with outcrops of greenery clinging on, contrasting with the russet of the deer grass. The landscape glows a deep gold with evergreen pines, glorious beech and oak adding to the view. Framing this, a big sky of blues, whites and greys. The end result is a landscape that can be described as romantic and cinematic. Scotland’s history seems deeply ingrained in the texture of the land and I fell wildly in love with it all.

Our holiday was a cobbled together affair of trains, planes and other people’s automobiles, where the journey from Glasgow to Fort William was by way of one of the greatest railway journeys in the world. That’s not just hyperbole; in 2011 readers of Wanderlust magazine voted it the best railway journey and The Telegraph rated it higher than the Oslo to Bergen line, which I have waxed lyrical about here.

The horseshoe curve

 The journey to Fort William takes you along the shores of Loch Lomond, onto Tyndrum with its ‘horseshoe curve’, so-called because the train line has to take a meandering route around a glen in the shadow of three mountains. This is one example where budgetary restraints end up creating accidental beauty and the view from the left-hand side of the train was enchanting. The sun broke through the clouds, beams of light tumbled down the mountain like a torchlight showing us the way ahead. It lit up the small bridge we were gently curving towards, a brief moment of magic.

Rannoch Moor

Approaching Fort William, the landscape becomes less barren as Ben Nevis smashes into view. The UK’s biggest mountain is 1,344 metres, which may not be all that impressive in comparison to Mont Blanc’s 4,809 but it’s a beautiful piece of rock. From a distance, it looks like a giant is hiding his head behind his shoulder and arm. As the sun sets, the mountain is lit in a pink hue that makes it hard to look away from. The first part of the train journey is over, so we stayed a night in Fort William.

Ben Nevis – a big rock

We stayed at a hotel I won’t name, because there’s no need to advertise anyone with such an obvious dislike of customers, paying money and such horrible things. We were brusquely checked in, with a sense that we ought to apologise for our behaviour in advance, then we headed to our fabulously chintzy room. It may be the place that taste forgot, but the views of Loch Linnhe were nothing short of sensational. With a few hours of daylight still available, we headed out for a walk to  Old Inverlochy castle, via the high street liberally sprinkled with drunk men and the picturesque park caught between two roundabouts and a Morrisons. Looking out onto the water, you are transported to the perfection of nature. Just don’t turn round. We hug the banks of the River Lochy and the town quickly disappears, with Ben Nevis making the occasional cameo through the breaks in the trees to our right. It is very pleasing. Soon, we come to a railway line, walk through the bridge and the castle appears, eerily empty and nestled amongst trees. The population of sheep eye us with vague interest, before continuing their baahing duties by the river. The castle is well worth a visit, the walk there alone is good enough reason to go.

Old Inverlochy Castle

The walk back to town was done at a clip as we had a reservation at Crannog seafood restaurant. As a fairly recent convert to the fishier end of the spectrum, it always feels like a major event going to a place that specialises in that which used to scare me. I had a special of scallops and pork belly, with potatoes and pureed carrots. Washed down with wine and a pudding called Crannog Tipsy Laird (it’s trifle with whisky) I left a very happy man. Such a wonderful evening needs only one thing to top it off, a visit to Wetherspoons. After all of this, we got back to our hotel room to find it was barely ten in the evening. As I succumbed to a mildly boozy slumber, I had a grin on my face from a day of great beauty.

Fort William