Shetland, it’s a bunny old place

I had really hoped I could say Shetland was cool, but sadly I can't. Unusually for this northernmost tip of Britain, the sun came out while I was there and bathed everything in average temperatures of 90 Fahrenheit.

According to one local I spoke to (and understood), this was a big improvement on last year when - so he claimed - the sun had not come out at all.

So clearly I had chosen to visit during freak meteorological conditions which, as you might expect, had a knock-on effect regarding my first impression of this Scottish archipelago (and incidentally, despite its plurality, never, ever refer to these islands as 'The Shetlands'; it's just 'Shetland', okay?).

With a population of approximately 22,000, spread over 100 lumps of rock of varying sizes that manage to occupy a maritime crossroads between the North Sea and Atlantic Ocean, you will not be surprised to learn that humans are dramatically outnumbered by about 30,000 gannets, 160,000 guillemots, 200,000 puffins, 600,000 fulmars and at least 330,000 sheep.

As for rabbits, well, when I was there, a 30p bounty rested on the head of every wee bunny you delivered (presumably to the Town Hall), with its head firmly hung between its twitching, jerking legs.

Indeed, so over-run is the island with these fluffy white bobtails, it occured to me that an enterprising - albeit callous - soul could almost cover the cost of their whole trip if they drove off-road enough.

Lerwick is the capital, about a 30-minute drive from Sumburgh Airport, and arriving well after 9pm at the beginning of July, I was surprised to discover that daylight-wise, it could just have easily been 2pm in the afternoon.

This gradual fade into a long, bright twilight is known by locals as 'Simmer Dim' and proved very practical, enabling me to read my copy of The Shipping News down by the harbour with a late Indian takeaway (well, what else would you eat in Shetland?) until well after midnight.

Having hired a bicycle for the duration of my stay, I rose the next morning and headed out early for one of Shetland's most famous attractions - St Ninian's Isle, an island joined to the South Mainland by a tombolo or ayre (a sliver of sand or gravel).

More than 500 metres long, it looks like something out of a Famous Five novel, and on this particular day, with the sun burning down, I had little choice but to lay down my bike, stretch out and surrender myself to the tanning process.

God knows how long I lay there but it was the best part of a day, attracting attention not only from the birds nesting nearby but also other visitors who, unlike me, were almost hidden beneath their multiple layers of extreme weather gear.

Of course, my delay here effectively wiped out the rest of that day's itinerary, but frankly it was worth it - later that evening at dinner, I looked like the only guest who had managed to break free of his kagoul.

Day two of my three-day stay was packed tighter than a puffin's beak, with a torturous cycle ride planned to Twatt, a rollercoaster route of hills and valleys through some of the mainland's finest sights, taking in at least two lochs and a firth.

By my calculation, it was going to take about three hours there and three hours back, but my body was less finely tuned than I gave it credit for, and in the end, I paid the ultimate price - the ignominy of having to thumb a lift back on a bus (not that this was the last time I'd be forced to resort to hitching Shetland-style...) The error nevertheless was all mine and served me right for being so immature and puerile; it's just when I looked at the map the night before, Twatt seemed like the most fun place to head for.

As it happens, I never actually found the village/hamlet, but if you Google it, you'll see plenty of pictures of people (almost all teenagers, almost all males) who did.

Still, the ride there was magnificent. Drivers in Shetland are, on the whole, extremely courteous, allowing cyclists plenty of room, although such consideration has a lot to do with the fact that most islanders consider you mentally unstable for wanting to bike in the first place and therefore view you as dangerous.

Pedalling past bungalows that doubled as churches and wooden sheds boasting 'Computer Clinic - Open', I got lost in the rhythm of the ride, noticing only that Shetlanders must be among the cleanest people in the world, for outside almost every home were washing lines full of drying clothes, peppering the geography like multi-coloured swatches of local flora.

And talking of swatches, Shetland wool is of course a big seller, yet despite wandering around many of the specialist shops that sell the famous knitwear, it all looked a bit green and brown to me.

One of the great problems here is that almost every bend in the road affords a 'Kodak Moment', turning any journey into a hugely irritating stop/start affair, so my advice is to stock up on postcards at the airport on the way home.

The fact that my three-hour journey to Twatt (which I couldn't find) but which was within a mile of Bixter (which I could find) took five hours rather than three, presented me with a predicament - hitch or die.

Yet despite the friendliness of the locals, it took me a good hour of gasping back past Weisdale, a stunning inlet with a return road that never seems to stop ascending, before a friendly bus driver stopped and helped me on.

And even now, weeks later and back in the office, I continue to campaign - albeit privately - for his canonisation.

Our journey back through Whiteness and Tingwall, with their mercilessly steep inclines, helped remind me of how I would have died beside the Loch of Strom if it hadn't been for this saint.

The following day, unable to look a bicycle spoke in the eye, I elected to ride a bus to Unst, the northernmost island of the chain, and Baltasound, its capital.

Rather disappointingly and surprising too in equal measure, Shetland's public transport system doesn't allow for cycles to be taken on to its buses. Which, if the buses heaved from early morning until last thing at night (whenever 'night' does finally fall in summer) would be entirely understandable, but as almost every bus that passed me was empty, their policy seems a tad short-sighted.

Consequently, I travelled to Unst without my bike which, after I had recovered around lunchtime, I realised I could have ridden.

Still, the trip there was stunning, especially so since it included two ferry crossings (in all, the trip there and back is going to set you back about £12); one from the mainland to Yell, and one from Yell to Unst.

Unst was utterly charming, although had the weather been its usual inclement self, I doubt it would have proved quite so alluring.

Understandably, everything in Unst can claim to be 'The Most Northerly In...', a marketing ploy that has not escaped the local post office or, most bizarrely of all, its award-winning bus shelter, which comes fully furnished with all the comforts of home, including a TV, a sofa, a microwave, paintings and home-cooked cakes. Superb.

And if you can, try to look at the island's talc mine (yes, talc mine, about the only place in Shetland where you can climb and walk and come back with even smoother hands).

My journey back, however, was a lot more fraught.

With the ferry between Yell and Unst having broken down, it meant all the connecting bus services simply drove on, meaning that when I did finally arrive on Yell at 6.30pm, there was no-one and nothing to take me across the island.

Luckily, another passenger, a woman, was similarly stranded, and as she was a local, managed somehow to track down a taxi which collected us.

The cost of the journey to the ferry port across the other side of Yell was £25 but the woman refused to accept my offer to pay.

"You're a stranger," she said, "and I'd like you to think well of us."

Well I do, whoever you are.

But my problems did not end there. I still had to make it back to the mainland and then on to Lerwick, a good hour's drive away.

As a result, I ended up hitching for the second day in a row, although this time it was aboard a coach... and a coach full of pensioners to be more precise.

About 50 of them in fact, all singing and humming along to a medley of Andy Stewart and Harry Lauder 'standards'.

Clearly amused by my situation, they cut a deal with me - join in or walk and, considering my predicament, I did my best to look giddy with glee as I accepted their charitable challenge.

Which was why, but minutes later, I was 'Och ayeing' and singing along to such favourites as Roamin' In The Gloamin', I Love A Lassie and Keep Right On To The End Of The Road.

I remember thinking: 'If only my friends could see me...' And that was about it as far as Shetland was concerned.

Later that night, I enjoyed a fish-and-chip dinner with a man in his 80s - a beautifully dressed ex-fisherman who regaled me with stories of life on the waves (most people here you find will talk to you without the slightest hesitation), but as I locked up my bike that night to a lamp-post outside the hotel, I had a most telling confrontation.

A man, watching me and obviously bemused, walked over and asked: "Wattya do-een?"

"Just chaining my bike up," I said. "You know, in case someone nicks it?"

To which he stared me in the eyes and asked (like I was insane): "And whooo would that be then?"

I hugely enjoyed Shetland but the weather was on my side. Had it been misty and overcast, as it often is, I'm not sure the experience would have been so warmly memorable.

As for choosing to cycle, it was right for me but for most people - and for purely practical reasons too - either take your own car or hire one there.

Finally, make sure you know why you want to go there before booking your holiday - for bird lovers and people who loveTime Team on Channel 4, it's perfect; for everyone else it could be an acquired taste...

* For further information, see the website www.visitshetland.com or call 08701 999440

HOW I GOT THERE

I FLEW with Atlantic Airways, the Faroes Islands-based carrier, which has just launched a twice-weekly service to Sumburgh from London Stansted. Fares start from £156 and the flight time is about 1 hour 40 minutes.

Good service once aboard but be prepared for delays (according to the Faroese passengers I spoke to, these were very much the norm).

For further information, see the website www.flyshetland.com or call 00298 341010.

WHERE I STAYED

The Queens Hotel, 24 Commercial Street, Lerwick Telephone: 01595 692826 Very nice, very friendly hotel, right by the water's edge and a minute's walk from the pier. Absolutely superb food. Singles cost £68.50 (including breakfast), doubles £94.50 (including breakfast).