We had a few days to spend prior to the festival and they had hired a quaint cottage in the far north of the island. It was already dark at 4pm when we drove up there and the wind battered against the side of Matt's Polo. Despite the car heater the chill of the Shetland Wilds made me shudder but upon arrival to the cottage we found the peat fire warming the house nicely. The owner had also switched on the bedroom radiators in preparation for our arrival.
Within minutes Matt had a joint of Shetland lamb in the oven and after a few glasses of the red stuff we were chowing down on the most incredible meat. Cooked to perfection and accompanied with KPs roasted veg and famous mash - indicative of her growing cookery repetoire - the meal didn't last long. Back onto the red and then some beautiful drams that went down too quickly saw the night ending in a drunken wrestling match and a very very painful knee. With a few jumping out of cupboards to scare the crap out of each other thrown in for good measure we called it a night and slept soundly in the toasty rooms. 
The mext morning started with a walk round the headlands at Isbister which saw us bending into the most wonderful headwind that constantly challenged our balance. Undoing and inverting our jackets behind our heads we laughed in the face of its vain attempts to knock us over. Reaching the top of the hill we were climbing we had an awesome view of the island of Yell and 360 vistas of the rest of the mainland. After many many many photos ("That's enough Matt!") we made our way back down the boggy moor land to the car and took off for Nibon.
At Nibon we took a short walk round the heavily pebbled beach to find a good viewpoint to watch the power and fury of the North Sea waves. They pummelled the rock faces and cliff walls with an unbridled wrath that only the oceans can muster. The spray rose up onto the main land misting over our faces and filling our nostrils with its rich saltiness. Once we were properly soaked from the demonstration of the water's savagery and had no memory left in the cameras we dragged outselves away from the delightful vision of Shetlands ferociousness and started the journey back to the car. Some slippy rocks, trecherous grassy clifftops and an event with the Stone of Destiny later we were on the road back to the cottage, affectionately called Midfield.
Matt's world renowned lasagne was on the menu and it lived up to its reputation. Washed down with a bit more red and a wondrous helping of apple crumble and Bill Bailey saw in the night.
With a late start the next day and a rather large amount of tidying up we left the lovely little house and cruised along the winding roads to Eshaness where we partook in a failed walk around some more headlands. There was less wind but horrific rain and more that its fair share of bogs which put to the test my new (and not as waterproof as they should be) hiking boots. We then stopped in at the St Magnus Hotel which is the largest wooden building on the island and comprised of planks shipped entirely from Norway. We had reservations at the "all you can eat" carvery. I tucked into a plate overflowing with lamb, ham and an assortment of vegetables swimming in gravy. Immensely filling.
Night (or should I say darkness) closed in fast and early reinforcing the shortness of the daytime here and not long after that we were back in their hospital accommodation. I was secreted into the on-call room where I'll be living/hiding out for the next 3 days.
More to follow.
