Nearly sixty years ago, two people decided to go away on holiday. Both were in their thirties, both single, and both had decided that they were never going to meet “The One” so might as well resign themselves to the single life. They travelled to Shetland, the archipelago flung out into the sea, nearer Norway than Scotland. In the guest house, the woman noticed a good-looking man glancing across at her. Whichever trip she booked up, he would be at her elbow, chatting. By the end of the week, they were going out and two years later they got married. They were my parents (pictured above in 2008). Without Shetland, I wouldn’t be here, so it seemed appropriate to have a family holiday there this summer.