Portrait of a man in Inverness.

HAIRY

Inverness is one of those small cities with not too much to do if you have an unplanned hour or so to kill. It's also one of those small cities where you see the same people over and over again.

Walking around Edinburgh, if I see someone browsing the rails in H&M, only to see them again half an hour later in a different part of town I'd probably make a mental remark; "ha, that's that guy again".

Your brain would get tired if you did that up in Invershnecky- it's more like a big, friendly, brutalist village than a city. I walked past one guy at least five times today. And when I was sat in Costa the guy clearing the tables even had time to ask me, "wot like the day, like?" in a tone that would have suggested to the bystanders that we'd known each other for years. Before he'd even finished stacking the plates I'd found out that his brother worked in the butchers in Dingwall and made an amazing black pudding.

But perhaps this state of perpetual deja vu is linked to the fact that there's not a whole load there to keep yourself occupied. When I was but a young, West coast dweller I'd take the 'Westerbus' into town with a bunch of mates and a £20 note in my pocket. We'd arrive at 10:15 and by 10:45 I'd blown my budget on awful CDs at HMV. The return leg to Gairloch didn't leave until 17:20- what on earth can you do in Inverness, with no money, for six hours? Walk around, that's what.

Walk around like all those other people you've passed a million times.

At least you can make conversation with anyone to pass the time.