For Steve’s stag weekend, we went to the Hebridean island of Islay, off the west coast of Scotland. I met up with Allan in Glasgow and after a lager on Thursday evening we flew early Friday morning, on a Saab turbojet. On this dull morning, the water droplets on the plane windows were dispersed as soon as the propellers were switched on, and to reinforce the small scale of the operation, the chief stewardess announced “I'm Helen and I am your cabin crew today!” To be fair, there were only 39 seats in total, and less than a third were occupied. A short hop over such dreamy-sounding waterways as the Firth of Clyde, the Sound of Bute and the Sound of Jura took us to Islay, just a handbrake turn before the Atlantic Ocean, a place
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