“Where are you taking me, Caro?!”
I’m the one in the driver’s seat, but as we pitch down the steepening mountainside in the deepening darkness, bouncing out of potholes, the full madness of this mission catches up with me.
“You’re not the first to ask that question,”
yells back, “and you won’t be the last!”Twenty-four hours ago we were in London. Now we’re taxing the axles of a hire car, crossing Skye in the failing light, turning off onto progressively rougher roads, headed for the home of the psychiatrist and philosopher Iain McGilchrist.