In hindsight the whole thing was a big mistake. The sort that incomers - English incomers - make, which serves only to confirm to the locals how thick-stroke-pretentious we are. But, we thought the harling (‘pebble-dash’ to the English, except that pebble dash has more pebbles and less cement and is accordingly a bit brighter-looking) too dreary for words and sought to brighten it up.
But. A house, long and narrow, converted from a wartime hut originally part of a short-lived seaplane station, takes a LOT of paint. Harling several coats to cover. So we were well-pleased when someone we knew knew a man who knew a man who could supply us with some, on the cheap (nudge, nudge, say no more.)
Took a ferry journey (and we had to wait for them to offload a coffin on its way to a funeral before we were allowed to board) then another loch- and inlet-circling drive until we arrived at the lighthouse. The paint was (luckily) at the bottom, but after we loaded the car and paid the man we could not resist his offer to let us climb up to the top to see the view. Only because I was last down did I avoid the tripwire and survive.
On Location (Monday) the stairs to a large building