My Favourite Holiday: Scotland’s freedom is a thrill for my soul, says author Hilary Boyd

BEFORE becoming an author, Hilary Boyd was a nurse, marriage counsellor and ran a small cancer charity.

Her debut novel, Thursdays In The Park, has sold more than half a million copies and was an international bestseller.

Her latest The Anniversary, (Michael Joseph, £7.99) which asks whether you can fall in love with the same person twice, is just out.

AS I get older, I begin to think holidays aren’t necessarily all they’re cracked up to be.

The anticipation is almost as much fun as the trip itself because travelling is so blooming challenging these days.

Nightmare queues, decanting stuff into those irritating little bottles and taking off half your clothes to get through airport security (I really can’t put my trainers back on standing up).

Having said that, I’ve been on some amazing trips. I’m lucky to be married to Thomas Cook the Second – so dubbed because he’s brilliant at organizing travel. (His name is, in fact, Don.)

So I’ve caught marlin off the Kenyan coast at dawn, the light softly beautiful across a smooth sea while I sip a cold beer to steady my empty stomach.

I’ve sat spellbound in front of the Tintorettos and Carpaccios artworks in Venice, then scoffed the most delicious giant spaghetti – with onions and anchovies – before mortgaging my house for a Bellini at Harry’s Bar.

I’ve taken an Istanbul ferry along the spectacular Black Sea coast, munching on a warm, salty simit and sipping the weak tea they pour from a great height into those little glasses.

But despite the razzmatazz of far-flung places, the prize for scene of my favourite holiday goes to the west coast of Scotland.

We took our children up there most summers when they were young: Ardamurchan, Skye, Lewis, the Summer Isles, Iona, Ullapool, Mull… all over.

We swam at Sanna Bay, with it’s beautiful, empty white-sand beach – and the odd highland cow.

We struggled through peat bogs and horizontal rain on Lewis.

We drove through the haunting Glen Coe and ate cheese scones and lentil soup at countless visitor centres.

But the overwhelming feeling I get when I’m striding across the Scottish hills is freedom.

The soft, clean air, the muted greens and browns and purples of the magnificent scenery and the open, empty spaces… it speaks to my soul and makes my heart sing.