Foula

Foula is an odd place, even by Shetland’s exacting standards. The ancient Romans at the height of their power could see the island but gave up trying to navigate there. They named it Ultima Thule, The End of the Earth, and left it at that. The islanders are so cut-off that when the rest of Britain adopted the Gergorian calendar, they didn’t find out until they were past caring and to this day islanders celebrate Christmas on 6 January and ‘Newerday’ on the 13th. Its continually foul weather and notoriously treacherous waters can cut the island off for weeks at a time. It mostly consists of peat bog and is home to two constantly warring families. Its main attractions are sea-birds, which attack you, and the 400m-high sheer cliffs, which take the lives of many sheep, and of the occasional tourist who gets close enough to be sucked off by the strange circular wind patterns flowing over the top. Scotland doesn’t want it any longer. There is no shop and no pub. Why does anyone live there?