Picture this.

At the end of a warm day in July, just after five. It is the traditional time for the post. Not that this happens any more but people still seem to gather in the pub as if they were still waiting for Roddy to arrive with his bundle of letters.

Now people gravitate to the pub as a precursor to tea-time: whole families. On a day like this the garden is full. Inside, there are a few groups of visitors, as you might expect. Amongst them, along the bar are a couple of men just off shift having a beer before home time. Coinneach who farms just up the road is in for nip.

Behind the bar Mark, Martyn's son is pulling a pint for someone down the far end. You catch his eye, 'A glass of Merlot, when you're ready Mark' Now that's civilised, a glass of full-bodied red on a glorious day.

The wine arrives and you pass a word or two to Mark. Others come in behind you and you turn because, in Badachro Inn, you expect it might be someone you know, someone you haven't seen for ages.

In Badachro Inn a lot of different people rub shoulders. Not because the bar is a compact space. No, there's something about the place and the mix of people in it (and behind it) that makes it work.

No bad thing, you think as you drink your wine and consider the next glass.