Just Call Me Cinderella

I caught the bus to London and lost my lucky Japanese coin, won in a game of rock, scissors, paper in Barcelona. An accident on the motorway caused us to detour and we arrived at Victoria Coach Station an hour and a half late – I still had eight hours until my next trip.

It bordered on hot and Londoners wore as little as socially acceptable; I had on jeans and boots and felt like I'd turned up to the party overdressed, some summer clothes shopping was deemed necessary.

The overnight bus ride wasn't awful, and insomniacs would have enjoyed themselves. The sun woke at 3.30 am and there was something special about sharing it with only the driver – seeing as all the other passengers were able to find that position which allowed sleep.

Joy – Dad's sister's husband's sister; my cousin's aunt; my aunt's sister-in-law; or my mum's husband's sister's sister-in-law – met me at the Dundee bus station and took me to her home, Balfour farm. I spent the afternoon catching up on sleep so my stay officially began the next day.

Balfour Farm is a lovely place to stay, a big old house with hide-away rooms you discover days after you've arrived. Scotland is awash with green, and Joy and Sandy's garden is a marvellous place to wander. Sometimes their dog Meg would lead me down through the twisting avenue of trees out back to where the Christmas trees grow. No longer a working farm, their land is leased to a Christmas tree company and if you count them, you'll find 800 thousand trees in regimental lines.

I haven't yet managed to see the Loch Ness Monster or any Scottish monster at all. I have been in the wrong part of Scotland, but that hasn't stopped my efforts and I do feel that had there been a monster to be seen, he would have flown from the depths of the Loch and made a trip to Balfour farm, so I must deduce that there is no such monster to be found. For the record I've spied countless rabbits, one red squirrel, two hare, two deer and various Scottish locals. Joy says deer snack on the Christmas trees but Meg and I only saw one, which ran away to the snapping of Meg's teeth.

I've had a car at my disposal and I'm reminded of when I first got my license and that overwhelming sense of independence. Of course there's independence in travelling solo but it's restricted in that I could only ever go places where my feet or public transport would take me, and it's not like I could say to the bus driver, excuse me, do you mind taking the next right because it looks awfully pretty down there and my map says there might be a castle, or hey, we just passed an entire field of baby bunnies, can we turn around so I can go and play with them (which would have been a complete waste of time because as it turns out baby bunnies don't want to play with Maddy).

In my borrowed car I visited the ruins of Edzel Castle, where there is still a winding stone staircase you can climb three storeys high and gardens just as they once were. I went to the much lauded blue door found beyond the town of Edzel, which opens up on to a sigh-worthy walk along a river where the salmon swim.

A few miles from Balfour farm sit two Iron Age forts on neighbouring hill tops. I climbed both, the air so thick with wind I walked with heavy feet in fear of being blown away. I could see further than the eye's spectrum, the sprawl of the land beyond the distant bens clear in my imagination.

A young couple, friends of Joy and Sandy's daughter, came to stay for a few nights and so we went bike riding, minus Sandy, Saturday morning. I dimly recall relaying to you the hills I came across in Suffolk, mere roughs in the roads compared to the mountains we climbed. I honestly thought I was going to fall in to a ditch, dead of exhaustion. Thankfully, Maree's back wheel was highly susceptible to punctures so I got a few rest breaks.

Later that week I went in search of J.M Barrie's hometown and found his grave; it's a nice plot with a gorgeous view of the town and surrounding countryside. I doubt he appreciates it but I imagine the hoards of visitors do. J.M stands for James Matthew; I wonder if you knew that. I didn't.

Another time I drove through Montrose and up the coast to Dunnottar Castle. Its ruins sit on a cliff's edge, bordered on either side by coves. Mary Queen of Scotts and King Charles II are marked down as visitors. You walk a thin path dipping down to almost sea level and then climb the stairs to the castle's entrance. The size is astonishing; an ambitious build, parts carved into the land's rock. It's the perfect place to explore on a summer's day, and with so many nooks I can't help but want to play hide and seek – a drawback of a solo traveller; I could hide but there wouldn't be anyone to find me and I think I'd get hungry and I wouldn't want to miss out on Joy's stewed rhubarb.

My last day in Scotland came rather suddenly and I spent it at a garden show in Edinburgh with Joy, an exceptionally fun afternoon of flower browsing.

Another overnight bus ride and I'm back in Lowestoft, but only for a very short time. I leave tomorrow for Bowness-on Windermere in the Lakes District where I've got myself a job as a general assistant at Lindeth Fell County House Hotel. So I'll be in Beatrix Potter and Swallows and Amazons country for a while cleaning rooms and waitressing. Just call me Cinderella.

p.s. I did try to put up some photos but the application refuses to behave.