The ferry timetable as literature

The ferry notice at the quay is laminated, sun-bleached and held up by four different kinds of tape. It lists eleven crossings a day in summer, four in winter and none, in small print, when the wind exceeds a certain force.

Every island resident knows its footnotes. The 07:10 carries milk, the 11:40 carries post, the 16:20 is for people who missed the others. Visitors who read the card as inconvenience miss the way it organises a whole life.

Living by a schedule you do not control

Islanders speak of 'boat time', a state of mind in which an hour is not a unit but a window. Appointments are made around crossings, and weddings are timed for tides. The mainland's flexible hours seem, by comparison, a luxury and a distraction.

I left on the 16:20. The captain, as we pulled away, waved at nobody in particular. A man on the quay waved back.