I finally made it to Fort William after a bit of a faff on the drive up from Glasgow – nothing major, just a rogue sheep blocking the A82 near Glencoe, turning what should’ve been a straightforward three-hour scoot into a four-hour standoff with woolly roadworks. By the time I pulled into the drive of Islay Lodge, just on the edge of town with those epic Ben Nevis views peeking through the trees, I was starving and ready to flop. This cosy wee lodge, all stone walls and heather-strewn garden, felt like a proper Highland hug after the chaos.

First impressions? Bliss. The place is a proper home-from-home – think wooden beams, a telly in the lounge big enough for footie nights, and a kitchen that’s kitted out like it means business. I dumped my bags, cracked open a tin of Irn-Bru from the offy on the way in, and got stuck into unpacking the food haul I’d planned meticulously. No faffing about with fancy restaurants on day one; I was all about that self-catering life. I’d swung by the Morrisons in Fort William on arrival – it’s just a five-minute drive, and their fresh veg section was a godsend. Grabbed some tatties, neeps, smoked haddock from the fish counter (proper Scottish stuff, none of your fancy imports), a slab of mature cheddar, and a couple of bottles of local BrewDog from the craft beer aisle. Budget-friendly and banging.

Right, cooking attempt number one: a classic Cullen skink to warm the cockles. I’m no Gordon Ramsay, but with the lodge’s gas hob firing on all cylinders, I sweated off some onions in butter (raided the welcome pack’s herb stash), chucked in the haddock and tatties, and topped it with creamy milk. Smelled like heaven wafting through the open windows. Sat at the scrubbed oak table overlooking the garden, spooning it up with thick-cut bread from the bakery section. Proper comfort food, though I might’ve overseasoned it a tad – salt levels were more North Sea than Loch Linnhe. Laughed at myself, thinking how I’d survive on Pot Noodles back home but here I’m playing house chef.

Evening rolled in misty and cool, so I fancied a pint and a proper pub nosh. Strolled down to the Ben Nevis Inn, not five minutes away by footpath – it’s that perfect local with fairy lights and a roaring fire. First impressions there? Packed with walkers nursing pints of Tennent’s and locals in Gortex. I went for the haggis, neeps and tatties (£12, bargain), washed down with a pint of Fraoch Heather Ale. The haggis was melt-in-the-mouth, spiced just right, and the barman recommended it with a cheeky “nae tourist trap here, mate.” Chatted with a couple from Spean Bridge about their hill climbs; turns out they’d been delayed by the same sheep blockade. We had a right giggle over that.

Next morning, breakfast was my domain again. Nipped to McHardy’s Stores – tiny independent grocer a short hop away, shelves groaning with scones, clotted cream, and jars of heather honey. Baked fruit scones in the lodge’s oven (they rose like champs, surprisingly), slathered with butter and jam, and black coffee strong enough to wake the dead. Sat on the patio as the sun burned off the mist, munching and pondering how daft it is that I never do this at home – proper brekkie, no rush, just me and the mountains. Made me reflect a bit: life’s too short for rushed Weetabix; these little rituals are what recharge the batteries.

Lunch was a picnic affair from the lodge kitchen – cheese ploughman’s with crusty loaf, Branston pickle, and apples from Morrisons. Ate it in the garden, watching buzzards wheel overhead. Afternoon pub detour to the Grog and Gruel, another cracker within easy walking distance. Their venison burger (£14) was a revelation – juicy, gamey patty on a brioche bun with caramelised onions. Paired with chips and a pint of Innis and Gunn, it was the perfect post-arrival indulgence. Staff were dead friendly, recommending the local Clava Blonde next time.

By evening two, I was hooked on this rhythm: market runs, kitchen experiments, pub crawls. Tried a steak pie from the Co-op (frozen but baked fresh in the lodge oven – pastry flaked like a dream), with mushy peas and a side of self-satisfaction. Fort William’s food scene, from the no-frills supermarkets to those hearty pubs, made settling into Islay Lodge feel effortless. First impressions sealed it: this is my new Highland happy place. Can’t wait to return and botch more recipes.