Hmm…activities or substances that would be frowned upon, if not ruled completely lawless in Glasgow… 

…whence I have just travelled, if not travailed, arriving in the isles just as Storm Amy cancels all ferries and sends the supermarkets into bare-shelf meltdown. Not a sun-dried tomato to be had. Never mind. I have scoured Tesco for birds-eye chillies and fresh coriander, and I know the best coffee in all the archipelago comes courtesy of my kitchen, an ancient Rancilio and my dodgy Neapolitan supplier of over-roasted Robusta beans. Also, I have and will retain forever memories of the awesome tininess that is Godshot in Shawlands, home of irresistible stationery, £40 scissors  and the best cheesecake and matcha in Glasgow,

Right, number one on the Zetland -only list: I wear on my belt the marine issue Victorinox one-hand-opening knife that will save my life should I fall in the sea and become tangled in a mooring rope/am attacked by swarming dogfish. Jail sentence (understandably) in blade-averse Glasgow, knife crime capital of Strathclyde, if you don’t count Motherwell. Also handy for opening Amazon deliveries and, well, every boat owner needs a corkscrew.

2. As indicated by presence of knife, I have a boat. A 15-foot aluminium work boat called Hjarta, which in Shetland is decidedly not an indicator of bourgeois yachty leisure activity, but more an essential part of life. The sea, after all is only a few feet from our front door.

3. I can drive a pickup truck with impunity. No west end Greenhearts on cargo bikes shouting abuse just because they got a puff of diesel fumes. Ford Rangers and Mitsubishi L200s are almost compulsory for crofters, and though I don’t actually have a croft I do need to haul boats about (see above) and load up peat, driftwood or coal (see below).

4. I can burn peat, wood (salvaged from the sea) or coal without restriction. The air moves very quickly here. Peat is the most economic and local fuel for our belching Rayburn stove, but we didn’t cut any this year, so it’s out with the chainsaw, sawing up any logs that drift ashore, or buying smokey Polish coal. And the best heat comes from coal.

5. I can indiscriminately chainsaw anything inanimate. And the Husqvarna burns 2-stroke mix, also illegal in cities but effortlessly recalling my teenage Vespa days. And breathe…

6. Lobsters. Here, they are large and either very affordable or gratefully received as gifts; not tiny slivers of seafood costing small fortunes in Finnieston.

7. Reestit mutton. We’re just entering the dark part of the year when reest (dried, cured, mildly smoked sheep) can be turned into tattie-and-salt soup and thus encourage the consumption of dark rum and McEwens Export (red tins, aka Shetland Roses) in large quantities, substances I would never consume elsewhere.

8. Wear pull-up trackie bottoms on even formal occasions. With wellies. Preferably neoprene insulated wellies, as used by the crews of freezer trawlers and costing the same as hand-made Loake brogues.

9. Use ‘jamp’ as the past tense of ‘jump’ instead of ‘jumped.’ Shetland (Scots/Norse) dialect is not a written language, despite what some obsessives argue, but it does, in its multifarious local forms, sound wonderful and have an array of brilliant words, many recognisably Scots: Bonxie, grice, hairst etc.

10. Admit that every photograph ( or video stream) ever posted on the internet or printed in a magazine of the Northern lights is a lie. Da mirrie dancers look nothing like that, until the magical algorithms of digital cameras (or Photoshop or Lightroom) get to work. And yet when you do see the aurora, or feel it, or hear it humming and buzzing…

There’s more, but I have to go and ritually slaughter a few dozen sheep, commune with otters and waterski aboard an orca or two. Or I’m not allowed to take part in the end-of-Wool Week sacrifice-a-birdwatcher ceremony.

Batten down the hatches and stay safe!